


Slowly, And Then All At Once

by SynthesisSurge



Series: By Wisdom and Courage [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Growth, Dragon Riders, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Harry Potter, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Helena Potter - Freeform, Helichrysa Dorea Potter, Lady Potter, Love, Magic, Magic-Users, Male-Female Friendship, POV Female Character, everything is not what it seems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 191,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9948773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynthesisSurge/pseuds/SynthesisSurge
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Helena had thought she could live a quiet life (as quiet a life as The-Woman-Who-Conquered could live). Fate had other plans for her, and one morning she wakes up in the Spine in Alagaësia. With a new companion by her side, and new friends at her arm, Helena takes on the world. Rider!Harry. Fem!Harry/Eragon. Book One of the 'By Wisdom and Courage' series.





	1. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With that, she turned on the spot, focusing on her house in Hogsmeade. The tell-tale sign of apparation showed itself, as she felt like she was being pressed into a tight rubber tube – only for her to hit some kind of barrier, causing her to bounce back to the clearing she had just left. To any observer, it would appear as if she disappeared for a fraction of a second, only to reappear with a loud crack, and then fly back about a dozen metres before landing harshly on the forest floor.
> 
> Helena gasped loudly as her body erupting in pain again and looked wide-eyed up into the sky. What by Merlin’s Old Saggy Bollocks was that!? She had never heard or read of something like that happening to anyone. Anti-Apparation wards would simply prevent someone from disapparating... It was as if she couldn’t ‘connect’ to her destination, and was thus rejected back to her starting point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

It hadn’t been but for a moment since Helena had regained consciousness, and already she knew she had awoken to a terrible day. Why? Because her body felt like utter shit. And not the ‘I might have had a few glasses of firewhisky too many’-feeling, but “my body has been doused with dragon fire and soaked in basilisk venom’-feeling.

Opening her eyes, Helena stared into a darkening sky. It wasn’t quite evening yet, but dusk was fast approaching. Helena blinked once, twice.

“What the hell...” the witch croaked out. She was surprised by the state her voice was in: it was cracked and raspy as if she hadn’t spoken in a great deal of time. Just what kind of situation had she managed to get herself into this time?

Sitting up, Helena let out a hiss as only a Parselmouth could; the soreness that had smouldered under her skin had erupted into pain. The intensity was so great, that it was only after a few moments that she realised three things: One, that she was stark naked; Two, that she was covered in purple and yellowing bruising; And three, that she was in the middle of nowhere, and had no memory of how she had gotten there.

“Well, this certainly ranks in the top ten of peculiar things which have happened to me…” she muttered. And that was saying something. Honestly, in her seventeen years of life, she had been involved in weirder shite than most. Given, it was mostly due to the involvement of Tom and his merry band of loonies, but she knew she was solely responsible for her fair share as well. That was, perhaps, also the reason why she was not any more freaked out about the situation than she was.

With a groan, she palmed her head in her hands. This was all so confusing.

Helena had no idea where she was, and she had no memory of how she had come to be there – let alone how she had come to be covered in days-old bruises. And it was with a sinking feeling that she realised, that the last thing she remembered was drinking firewhisky in the Three Broomsticks with Hermione. She didn’t even remember leaving the pub.

Opening her eyes, she pushed through the pain and stood up. Looking around the area, she only confirmed what she had already established: she did _not_ know where she was. She did spot several items scattering the ground around her, her beaded bag being among those things, much to her relief.

It was with a frown that she picked the bag up. Putting her hand down the bag, she quickly summoned a list which would give her a rough estimate of what was in the bag. That was necessary with a bag which could contain almost anything of any quantity. While the list wasn’t precise – for example it only recorded that a certain number of books were packed, but not the titles of said books –, it showed her that the bag contained what she would pack if she were leaving home for a significant period of time. While she couldn’t be sure, it looked as if she had not only packed the Potter and Black libraries in the bag, but also a considerable amount of galleons, gems, heirlooms, potion ingredients for hundreds of potions, _and_ enough food to sustain her for a month or two.

The new information only added to her growing confusion. Whatever had happened to her, she had apparently known it would happen. That was evident to her since she wouldn’t have packed her bag if she hadn’t planned to leave home – and no one could pack (or unpack) her bag but her due to the charms cast upon it.

She dismissed the confusion for now, turning to the other items on the floor. The first thing that caught her eyes, mostly due to the moonlight reflecting off of it, was a sword. It was beautiful. It was clearly a one-handed sword, though, admittedly, Helena had limited knowledge when it came to swords. It was long and slim, probably made more to slip in between ribs rather than to slice through them, and was made of what looked like silver, with rubies gleaming down the hilt.

A flowing script down the length of the blade caught her interest. Helena froze, and then looked closer with a heavy frown on her face. Her eyes widened when she read what it said. _Godric Gryffindor._

But... that was impossible. Ignoring the fact that it looked nothing like Gryffindor’s sword (for Merlin’s sake, Gryffindor’s sword was a big honking one-and-a-half handed sword, which she had barely been able to lift in her Second Year), the sword _should_ be secure in its glass case in the Headmaster’s – or rather Headmistress’ – office at Hogwarts. Yet, here it laid, pure silver and rubies gleaming and all. And how in the world had it changed appearance so completely? Yes, the sword was magical in nature, at least partially, and yes, Helena had a connection to it both through her blood but also her use of it, but it should only appear to her in her greatest time of need.

Helena was ashamed to admit that it took her a few moments to figure out why the sword must’ve appeared to her. But as she was rather disoriented and in pain, she would forgive herself for the offence.

The next thing to draw her attention was a rather strange set of armour. It wasn’t the kind of armour which stood on every corridor in Hogwarts castle. It was rather... light. Apart from a piece on each shoulder and a few pieces down the left arm, the armour was not made of plates at all. In fact, it was made mostly of leather, with a few pieces of chainmail thrown in here and there. That was when Helena spotted Gryffindor’s crest etched into the leather on the right shoulder, just below the shoulder-plate. It only served to confuse her even more than she already was.

Being a proud member of Gryffindor House, she was, of course, in awe of it. However, that didn’t mean that she was going to adorn the armour right then and there. It didn’t matter whether she was seen by wizards or Muggles – both would give her queer looks if she came waltzing down the street wearing the armour. So, she packed it into the bag. It was odd to see armour pieces several times larger than the bag, be swallowed by it. Such was the wonder of magic.

The last item on the floor was a most peculiar thing of the lot. It was a reasonably sized oval stone of a dark ruby colour. Lines of a lighter shades of red ran crisscross across the surface, with no starting or ending point. What was even more interesting to notice, was that the stone all but hummed with magic. She wasn’t in danger of any wild magic shooting out, but... Helena had never seen anything like it. Curiously, she was about to cast a diagnostic spell on the stone – only to find out she didn’t have her wand on her.

The panic didn’t set in right away. Logic won, reminding her that she was still stark naked – thus, she had nowhere to store her wand, not in a pocket, nor in a wand holster. However, as the young witch looked around for the wand on the forest floor and didn’t find it, logic was fighting a losing battle. Frantically, she looked once again and looked through the list her bag had provided to see if it listed a wand. It didn’t. After a full minute of searching around the clearing for the third time, ignoring the pain she was in, Helena had to accept that her wand wasn’t there. Suddenly, she felt far more naked than she could ever feel without clothes on.

Having been through all she had, Helena knew that panic served no-one but her enemies – though, hopefully, there was none of them here. Drawing in another deep breath, she calmed her mind the best she could. Picking up the stone, the witch weighed her option for a moment, before putting it into her bag as well. She didn’t know why she brought it with her, but something was nagging her in the back of her mind, telling her that it was important. With all items scattered in the clearing packed away, Helena brought her mind back to the problem she was having. First things first: she needed to find out where she was. Looking around the forest, she was just as clueless as to her location, as she was moments before.

“Well, that was a big help, wasn’t it?” she muttered moodily to herself, a part of her realising that she was more affected by the loss of her wand than she consciously let on.

Shaking her head, she delved into the bag again, retrieving some clothes, and quickly donned them. Now dressed in robes not unlike the ones she had worn at Hogwarts, she secured her beaded bag and nodded to herself.

With that, she turned on the spot, focusing on her house in Hogsmeade. The tell-tale sign of apparation showed itself, as she felt like she was being pressed into a tight rubber tube – only for her to hit some kind of barrier, causing her to bounce back to the clearing she had just left. To any observer, it would appear as if she disappeared for a fraction of a second, only to reappear with a loud crack, and then fly back about a dozen metres before landing harshly on the forest floor.

Helena gasped loudly as her body erupting in pain again and looked wide-eyed up into the sky. _What by Merlin’s Old Saggy Bollocks was that!?_ She had never heard or read of something like that happening to _anyone_. Anti-Apparation wards would simply prevent someone from disapparating... It was as if she couldn’t ‘connect’ to her destination, and was thus rejected back to her starting point.

Taking a few minutes to calm her body, Helena slowly stood up. Unlike before, now her body was twitching like mad.  Whatever had prevented her from apparating clearly had done more damage to her body. Sighing deeply, she knew she would have to get back home the old-fashioned way. Looking to the forest floor, she picked up a branch. For what she was planning, her wand would’ve been best. But as that was out of the question, she would have to use some mundane wood. Besides, it was a simple spell, and Helena had wandlessly cast more complicated spells. It shouldn’t be a problem.

Laying the branch flat on her palm, she spoke the incantation.

“Point Me, Hogsmeade.”

It vibrated slightly but didn’t move. Helena frowned.

“Point Me, London _.”_

Again, the stick vibrated, but didn’t spin around as it was supposed to do. Helena’s frown deepened.

“Point Me, Paris. Point Me, Rome. Point Me, Copenhagen. Point Me, Moscow. Point Me, New York. Point Me, Brasília. Point Me, Tokyo. Point Me, Cairo. Point Me, Johannesburg _._ ”

Each time the piece of wood twitched, but it didn’t give her any idea of where she was. That was when she started to get a bit scared. The spell was invented originally by Hermione and then expanded by Helena herself. Hermione had intended for the spell only to point North, but Helena had needed more than that. After long talks with Hermione, they had figured out how to ‘imprint’ locations into the spell, so that the focusing object would point to them. Of course, there was a distance limit to the spell, but for the pointing North as it was sensing the Earth’s magnetic field. With that said, unless she was in Antarctica (which the greenery around her proved she wasn’t), the medium, the branch in this case, should have reacted to any of the anchor location she had just listed. But all it did was to damn vibrate.

Feeling panic grow inside of her again, Helena quickly squashed it down with a vengeance. Perhaps the spell was simply broken (was such a thing even possible?).

“Point Me, North _,_ ” the witch spoke. Dutifully, the piece of wood spun around before pointing towards north. The spell wasn’t broken. But where the hell was she then?

As the minutes ticked by, Helena got more and more discouraged as the spell kept refusing to work. At last, she threw the stick on the ground in disgust, sat down, and buried her head in her arms. She wasn’t crying, she was thinking.

She was in a strange place, covered in strange bruises, with strange magic preventing her from apparating. She had her bag with her, which had enough items in it for her to survive for months, perhaps even years if she rationed her supplies. She apparently had known she was going to wherever she was because she _had_ packed the bag; she just couldn’t remember that she knew, or how she knew.

Lowering her arms, Helena blew her fringe out of her eye.

There was just one thing to do: pick a direction and start to run. It was far from optimal, but that was all she had left. Seeing as the air was already a bit chilly, the best option would be to run south, as there were usually more people where it was warmer rather than colder.

The witch nodded to herself with that decision made. She just hoped she would bump into some kind of village or city sooner rather than later. That location, however, could be hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. And if she were unlucky, she would run right past such a site without noticing it. Hopefully, Helena would be lucky, and it would only be a fraction of that distance she had to travel. But, then again, when had she ever been lucky? If she were a lucky person, then she most likely wouldn’t have ended up in the arse end of nowhere with no knowledge of how she came to be there.

With a groan, Helena used her animagus abilities to change into a dire wolf and began running south. It was far from optimal, but at least as a dire wolf she could move faster through the forest, and it was far less likely that she would be approached by other potentially dangerous animals. And with the thick fur, Helena didn’t have to lie freezing at night. Yes, as she said, it was far from optimal, but still better than trekking through the forest as a human.

It wasn’t long before her instincts took over the navigation, leaving her to ponder about her memory loss.

The very last thing she remembered was Hermione making a quip about Ron in bed, to which Helena had turned beat red at, telling the Muggleborn that she did _not_ need to know that. Since the War had ended a few months earlier, Ron and Hermione had been all over each other. It was a bit sickening, if Helena was honest, but in a right way. She was sure that if Fred had survived, he and she would be just the same. They had never progressed far beyond the flirting stage and the chaste kiss here and there, mostly because Helena was too busy worrying about the world being on fire. She regretted that now. Because of that, Helena gave her best friends some time to figure things out (though she for all that was holy did _not_ want to know what ‘things’ may entail). And they had used a lot of time together, alone, and when the Muggleborn had realised that she had been neglecting Helena a bit, she had suggested that they share a drink at the Three Broomsticks.

In all honesty, however, Helena hadn’t minded much being left alone. She had focused on rebuilding Hogwarts – the Castle was the only place where she could escape from the reporters who wanted to interview The-Woman-Who-Conquered. Her plans after the Castle had been repaired had been to go away for a little while; to just be alone, in peace, to think things through, and to mourn those she had lost. Of course, she would come back, very likely in less than a year, but by then she would have more energy to handle things than she had at the moment – by Godric’s Courage, the War had only just ended.

Feeling herself getting agitated at the direction her thoughts were taking, Helena shook the thoughts from her head. Letting the animal in her take over, the animagus let herself be filled with the instincts: the smell of the forest, the waft of the wind through her fur, the repeating bumps made by her running, and the soil under her paws. Unless something drastic should happen like if she were attacked, she would remain as the Wolf.

The days quickly started blending together in her memory. Most of the time, day and night, was spent as a wolf, where her human brain was put on the backburner. The only time she was a human was when she ate because Helena refused to hunt and kill as the Wolf when she had perfectly edible food in her bag. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t hunt as the Wolf _if_ she had no other choice, but she did at the moment. While she wouldn’t be irked by it in the moment, as the Wolf would have taken over, the memories would remain with her.

On her journey south, Helena had gotten into the habit of sitting with the ruby-coloured magic stone as she ate her food by the campfire. Helena didn’t know what it was about the stone that made her so... enthralled with it. While some alarm bells had rung in the back of her mind when she had made the comparison to Riddle’s Diary and how it had affected Ginny, her fears had been soothed as she felt the absolute _primal_ magic from the stone; something that was entirely beyond good and evil. The stone wasn’t dangerous per se.

It took her three weeks of running, give or take a few days, before she found something resembling civilisation. Helena didn’t even want to think about how far she had travelled, but she counted herself fortunate. While it was true that in the year she was on the run with Hermione and Ron they went far and wide, they didn’t actually _travel_ ; they apparated to new areas, and tried to research where the next Horcrux could be. This time, however, Helena had gone the whole distance without any magical aid other than changing to and from a wolf.

The place she had found was a city. And it was... not what Helena had expected. Standing on a cliff as a human a few miles from the city, it was an optimal place to observe it. Right away Helena noticed oddities about the city. While she wasn’t all too caught up in what was happening in Muggle society – because the city was most certainly Muggle –, and especially not Muggle society much farther away than the Continent, she knew that what was happening in the city was just not normal.

The coastal city and its inhabitants looked to be stuck in the Middle Ages. The citizens’ clothing was roughly sewn fabrics and was many times tattered, and there were _guards_. Honest to gods guards with swords and shields, patrolling the streets and standing guard at key points. The smell was also different from any she was used to, telling of a city which didn’t have a proper sanitary system: human excrement and rotten food (fish, for the most part) wafted with the wind in-land – something her stronger-than-average nose, due to her animagus form, didn’t appreciate.

The city itself was also unlike any Helena had seen. It was impressive, Helena would admit: The whole city was encircled by an enormous white wall, which had to be at least thirty metres tall, and a fourth as thick. There were two gates, as far as Helena could see; one facing the extensive harbour full of medieval ships, and one facing the south side where a road turned east, up through the mountains. From what Helena could see of the interior of the city, its buildings grew progressively taller the closer to the centre you got. In the smack middle of the fortress city was built a citadel. Compared to Hogwarts it was pitiful, but perhaps that was an unfair comparison. That said, if you took the whole city into account, it would probably be harder to invade – if it wasn’t because Hogwarts was full of wizards and witches. Not that she actually thought of invading the city, of course. All she needed was to ask some questions without drawing attention to herself, and perhaps buy a map.

Having learnt what she could from observing, Helena changed into a wolf again and ran the last stretch to the city. She felt elation as she realised that she would be able to sleep in a bed that night. Even if the city was odd, it was sure to have an inn where she could rent a room. Though she didn’t possess the local currency, she did have Galleons, which were made of pure gold, and more than just a few gems. If the city was stuck in the Middle Ages, why shouldn’t they accept something like that as payment?

Transforming back to human and stepping out onto the road, Helena started walking the last few hundred metres to the city gates. If she had had her wand, she would’ve transfigured her robes into something more akin to what the citizens of the city were wearing. But she didn’t have her wand, and Transfiguration was one of the things she wouldn’t even _attempt_ to do wandlessly. Transfiguration was easily the most challenging and dangerous branch of magic. So instead of transfiguring her robes, she instead cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm. While sharp minds would still notice her, most would simply not pay her any attention. It wasn’t that she became invisible, as people would still avoid bumping into. It was more that she automatically became someone unimportant in the minds of those around her. Perfect when you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself.

At that moment she wished she had her invisibility cloak with her. It hadn’t been about a fortnight after the Battle of Hogwarts that Helena had given the Cloak to Andromeda for safe keeping, and eventually to give to Teddy on Christmas Morning of his First Year at Hogwarts. Helena had been confident at the time that she would be around to give it to him herself, but after all that had happened to her, she would rather be safe than sorry. She had been right, obviously.

Helena had given the Cloak as she had become somewhat of a master with the Disillusionment Charm, and thus not needing the Cloak. Of course, she had never thought she would be without her wand more than she thought she would ever suddenly wake up one morning and miss her leg.

A mistake on her part.

Casting a light Confundus Charm on the gate guards, just to be sure, Helena entered the city without a problem. It was quickly proven that the white of the wall was a show of intimidation. Most of the buildings around her were built with grey stones – though, indeed, the buildings closer to the citadel were just as white as the wall. It was clear that the higher elevated one lived from the ground in this city, the higher one’s social status was. That said, even with her being on the lowest level possible, the surroundings were still pleasant and the smell more than bearable. Helena theorised that it was because they were just by the gate, and it was the first impression that visiting people got of the city – at least after the impressive sight of the white wall.

Walking around the city, Helena got a closer look at these people. It was clear that none of them had ever seen or heard of anything of the modern world.

It was well known, even in the Wizarding World, that while some countries were more developed than others, no one country was entirely devoid of technology. When Hermione had taught her more of the Muggle World, she had shown pictures of the ‘third world’. In the cities, you would always find signs of the ‘first world’, whether it be a store, a newspaper, or even a mobile phone. There was none of that here. Another pointer towards this not being a third world country was the ethnicity and the language. All of the people here were white as you could be, and looked more to be from Northern Europe than from Africa or Asia. That said, it was quite clear that Helena would stick out just by her features, which were far more angled than the locals. And the language they spoke was English. Given, it wasn’t British English, but it was still English. Though the terminology escaped Helena in some of the conversations she heard, it was undeniably English.

If anything, what she had discovered only added to her worry. But before she was going to do anything else, she needed to find an inn and rent a room. After that, she could try to find a marketplace and a pub – that had to be where she was most likely to overhear most conversations of importance.

It took some time to find an inn. Well, that was putting it incorrectly: it took some time to find an inn that didn’t give Helena the wrong vibes. In her search for a place to stay, Helena had apparently bewildered herself into what had to the absolute poorest section of the city and had progressively moved up the social ladder as the time went on. It was in the middle of the afternoon when Helena finally found an inn she found comfortable. It wasn’t quite the richest, but definitely above the standard.

Helena opened the door to the Singing Seagull and stepped inside. The insides smelled of smoke and ale, but that wasn’t exactly unpleasant. If you changed the ale smell out with butterbeer, it kind of reminded her of the Three Broomsticks. The thought made the young witch smile until she recalled that the Three Broomsticks was where her memories ended from before her deposit in the middle of nowhere. Dismissing the negative thoughts – it wouldn’t do her good to become moody now – Helena walked up to the innkeeper. Helena didn’t doubt, that if it weren't for the Notice-Me-Not Charm, she would draw a fair number of odd looks from the patrons. After all, if this city truly acted as cities had in the Middle Ages, then a young woman like her walking in alone would be almost unheard of. Hopefully, it wouldn’t give her too many problems.

“Excuse me,” Helena spoke up as she reached the counter. The innkeeper blinked and looked at her as if he had only just noticed her, which he would with the charm active.

The innkeeper was a man of perhaps forty years. He was as ginger as the Weasleys, which was rare around those parts as far as Helena had seen in the city. He had light blue eyes and a thick red beard, and the moment he saw Helena, he frowned. He looked her up and down, taking in her unique clothing.

“Yes?” he asked, not unkindly.

“I would like to rent a room... for a week, let’s say,” Helena told him. She didn’t know how long she had to stay, but she’d rather have a few days left over than need a few more. She could always rent the room again if she were staying longer, but it was her hope that she would’ve found a way home before that.

“Are you alone here, little lady?” he asked, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Yes,” Helena answered stiffly. “Is it a problem?” She looked him daringly in the eyes. Ron, Fred, and George had always gotten very nervous when she had shot them those looks. And, evidentially, so did the innkeeper.

“N-no, of course not,” the innkeeper quickly shook his head. “It’s just-.“ Helena stuck her hand into her bag, summoned a sapphire, and put it on the table. That shut the innkeeper up. The sapphire was about the size of her little-finger’s nail, and while it wasn’t the highest possible quality, it wasn’t just a rough stone. Another option would’ve been to give him a Galleon, but if he tried to smelt it before she was gone, it would raise a lot of questions she didn’t want to answer.

The innkeeper’s eyes snapped to the blue stone right away. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of it.

“I can take this elsewhere,” Helena told the innkeeper evenly. “I just need a room for a week. Whatever else this is worth, you can keep it.” No matter how expensive the inn must be, that sapphire should be more than enough.

The offer made the innkeeper’s eyes snap from the gemstone to her face. He looked incredulously at her, before nodding. He snatched the stone up quickly and stored it in his pocket; he was not going to give her a chance to reconsider, Helena noted with mirth. Suddenly he was looking at her in a new light. Of course he did, Helena thought with a sigh, the mirth quickly gone. If she could throw gemstones like that away like they were nothing, she clearly wasn’t just a commoner’s daughter.

“Of course,” the innkeeper nodded at her with a pleasant smile. “I’ll show you to your room, right this way.”

“Thank you,” Helena inclined her head.

The innkeeper grabbed a key off of the wall behind the counter and showed her up a row of stairs and down a nicely decorated hallway. They stopped at the end, where the innkeeper opened the door to a moderately sized room. It was sparsely furnished, of course, but had a bed, a desk, and windows with a view out over the city. Helena blinked: this had to be one of the more expensive rooms. But then again, she _did_ pay with a sapphire.

“I hope the room is to your liking,” the innkeeper told her. Helena knew he was trying to chat her up, so as to make her more inclined to drop one or two more of those gemstones. Helena had to fight herself to prevent her from rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Very much so,” Helena nodded.

“I’m glad, Miss...”

“Potter,” Helena answered for him.

The innkeeper startled slightly, looking even more curiously at her. It clearly wasn’t a common name around here – or perhaps it just wasn’t a common name for a woman.

“Miss Potter,” the innkeeper nodded. “My name is Sigurd Johansson. If there is anything at all you need, or you have any questions about the city, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Actually, do you know where a tailor is located within the city?” Helena asked of Sigurd. Hopefully she wouldn’t be staying in the city long, but on the other hand, she might. She had no idea. In either case, it would be best to have clothing that fits in with the general populace. While the Notice-Me-Not Charm worked, for the most part, it didn’t stop the stronger minds from noticing her, and it didn’t stop people _she_ initiated contact with from noticing her. “And a bookstore?”

“Well, we have a plenty good tailor right down the street here,” the Sigurd told her with a large smile, eager to please. “Dempster’s Drapes, it’s named. Good quality, good prices, and they don’t take too long to finish orders; as for a bookstore... I’m not too sure. As you very well know, it just isn’t common folks who buy books,” he laughed. Helena mentally winced. She had only enhanced that unfortunate image of her being noble – which she was, in a way, being Lady Potter, but he didn’t need to know that. “That said, there are a few people in town who own more or less extensive libraries. A person who comes to mind is Jeod Longshanks. He is a merchant, you see, though he has started to run into a streak of bad luck. For the right price, I’d wager you’d be able to take a look at his books. I could make contact with him if you’d like?”

“Yes, please do,” Helena smiled. “Thank you.”

With the subtle, but unmistaken dismissal, Sigurd inclined his head – a little too deeply for Helena’s liking – and exited the room. Helena sagged together. Hopefully Sigurd wouldn’t be a tattletale and spread a rumour about her wealth. While she didn’t doubt she could defend herself, even without her wand, it would really be a bother.

~ BWaC ~

As Helena walked back through Teirm – because that was the name of the city she was staying in – from Jeod’s house a fortnight later, she was starting to accept that she wasn’t going to get home in the foreseeable future. The merchant had a very impressive collection of books; not quite the size of either the Potter or Black libraries, but still a lot more than just the ordinary citizen, even at home, would normally own. Helena had poured over the history-books and map collections she could find, trying to figure out just where she was, and then how to get home; now she could conclude that _that_ wasn’t going to happen just then and there.

The history-books were severely lacking in content, and everything she had read had to be taken with a grain of salt. From what she had read, and from what she had overheard at the local pub, this was due to the Empire, which was controlled by the evil Dragon Rider, Galbatorix. He was a tyrant if Helena had ever heard of one. He had banned all books that could undermine his totalitarian authority. It was most likely also because of him that there weren’t any more detailed maps in Jeod’s collection – population control and restricted movement was all part of the common tyrant’s M.O., after all. When Helena had first seen a map of the land that she was in – Alagaësia – she had thought that perhaps she was lost on some secluded island far out in the ocean. Then she had inquired more about the size of the land from Jeod and had learned that Alagaësia was at least as large as the North American continent. There was just no way such a large piece of land could stay hidden.

That had left Helena with three options: either she was in the past, or she was in the future, or she wasn’t on Earth. She couldn’t see this being the far past. She had learned more than a little geography in the summers spent at the libraries instead of the Dursleys, and there was no continent which even remotely resembled Alagaësia. Perhaps if you went back more than four or five hundred years, but if she did that, then the Muggles shouldn’t be as advanced as they were. Neither did she believe she was in the far future: even if some apocalyptic event had pushed the Muggles down from the crumbling pedestal they had been building under themselves for years, there was no way that _all_ evidence of technology would just vanish. Then there was the fact that magic was well known in this land, and while these ‘magicians’ were feared, they were also respected. Now, Helena knew for a fact that the Wizarding World wouldn’t come out of hiding, even if a catastrophe hit the Muggle World. If anything, the Magical Community would try to conceal itself even more behind enchantments. The Dark Ages was still in the memories of all witches and wizards. It didn’t matter that most of them actually got away – the persecution and witch-hunt, which Helena’s people had been under, simply because they had different gifts than the Muggles, was grotesque. So, it wasn’t the far future either. That only left Helena with not being on Earth. The only thing wrong with that theory was that the night sky was exactly like the one on Earth; the same moon, the same sun, and the same constellations. According to them, she should be around the latitude of southern France. But, again, there was no way a continent as large as Alagaësia could exist on Earth without being noticed, _especially_ not on the northern hemisphere.

No matter what, whether she was on Earth or not, it didn’t leave her with an easy way home. Helena was considering going to the elves, which lived in the woods in the northern part of Alagaësia. No, they weren’t like house elves, but more like the elves of Muggle fantasy literature. From what Helena had read, they were the most magical attuned people in the land. Generally, Helena would’ve gone to a human first, but with the Black King, Galbatorix, controlling most of them, and the rest of them in hiding, that didn’t leave her many options.

For now, though, Helena would stay in Teirm. She had come to an arrangement with the innkeeper – who despite his extensive arse kissing was very pleasant and helpful –, and would be staying in the room at the Singing Seagull. And with the clothes that she had made at Dempster’s Drapes, she no longer stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t that she couldn’t keep up the Notice-Me-Not Charm, but when she was staying in the city for an unplanned period of time, it was just _better_ to be seen by people. It wasn’t that she was socialising or anything, but at least now people knew _of_ her. It was a double-edged sword for sure, but Helena thought the benefits outweighed the consequences, especially since she wasn’t doing anything illegal (at least she didn’t _think_ she was).

Stopping by a small bakery on the way, Helena bought a small loaf of bread to eat for dinner and walked the rest of the way to the inn. She knew it wasn’t exactly healthy, but she wasn’t in the mood for anything else. The last two weeks had been used frantically trying to find anything that could point her in the direction of home, and while the revelation that she wasn’t going to get there in the foreseeable future hadn’t come out of nowhere, it was still a harsh hit. The other nights she had ordered something at one of the local pubs, The Green Chestnut, where she would sit until late at night, listening to the conversations around her, but she was not in the mood tonight. There she _did_ use the Notice-Me-Not Charm. She did not need to be approached by lecherous men, who thought they could take advantage of a ‘poor, defenceless girl’. Again, she could defend herself, but it wouldn’t do good to draw that kind of attention to herself.

Nodding politely to Sigurd, she didn’t stop to chat with him as she had done most other days. Instead, she went straight to the staircase, and straight to her room. Quite moodily she covered the windows in drapes, lit a small candle, and then sat down on the floor by her bed with her photo album. Almost without thought, the red stone was brought out with the album and sat in her lap as she started going through the photographs.

The album was essentially her whole life, bar the time between Tom killing her parents and her enrolling at Hogwarts. There were pictures of her as a baby, living with her parents and the Marauders and even one with Minerva, and photos of all her years at Hogwarts. The latest photograph had been taken only weeks before her meeting with Hermione at the Three Broomsticks. It was of the survivors of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army. Too many were missing in that picture, Helena thought. It was a difficult photograph to look at, but Helena forced herself to do it. She wouldn’t want to forget those who had died so that the rest of them could live. It didn’t matter if it hurt – they deserved that much.

Helena didn’t know how long she had sat there, watching the moving pictures, when a high-pitched whine broke the silence of the room.

Startling at the sound, Helena looked around trying to figure out where it had come from. No, she didn’t have wards up around the room – and she hadn’t had since discovering that ‘magicians’ were more or less normal around these parts: she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, and she didn’t know if her wards would do that. But with that said, she wasn’t exactly easy to sneak up on, not after the War. She hadn’t quite reached Alastor’s level of paranoia (thank Merlin for that), but she was definitely more paranoid than she had been before the War. Thus, it would surprise her if anyone had been able to sneak into her room, without her noticing. As it was, though, she couldn’t see anyone in her room. It was with a heavy frown that she looked down into her photo album again.

Another twenty minutes passed, and Helena, slowly but surely, calmed down. That calm, however, was again shattered as a similar whine broke the silence. This time Helena jumped up to her feet, the red stone in her hands while her album fell to the floor. She was twitching to take out her wand, but that was not possible for obvious reasons. The witch was just about to go around the room when yet another whine sounded. With eyes as wide as saucers, Helena looked down at the stone in her hands.

One could almost hear the pin-needle drop to the floor in her mind, as Helena realised what she was holding. Like a Muggle movie, Helena saw in her mind’s eye as she, Hermione, and Ron visited Hagrid, who was hatching a dragon egg. There were similarities, for sure, but also drastic differences. For one, Norberta's egg hadn’t radiated magic in the manner that this egg did. And while, yes, Helena had only been eleven at the time, and not as in touch with her magical core as she was now, there was no way she would’ve missed the feeling of being in the presence of a magical object like the red egg. Then there was also the question of how it had hatched: Hagrid had explicitly told that a dragon egg needed to be heated, almost to extreme temperatures, to synthesise the conditions of the egg’s mother breathing fire upon it. Helena had done no such thing and had only held it as she ate.

Helena was broken from her slightly panicked musing, as the egg began to shake violently. Quickly dropping the egg onto her bed, Helena took several steps backwards. Dragons were dangerous, Helena could attest to that. Twice a dragon had tried to kill her, and while she survived both encounters, she hadn’t come out of them unscathed. The first dragon, a Hungarian Horntail which she had fought during the Tri-Wizard Tournament in her Fourth Year had burned her back badly. The second dragon, an Ukrainian Ironbelly, the one that had guarded the deepest vaults of Gringotts, she had gotten impaled on one of its spikes as they fled London upon its back. As she said, she had survived both times, but she wasn’t exactly looking to have another encounter with one of the reptilians.

But... that had been on Earth. While she had only got to read a fraction of the books in Jeod’s library, she had stumbled upon the term ‘Dragon Rider’ more than a few times. Most times it was to refer to the evil king ruling the land, but a few times it had referred to an Order. Honestly, she hadn’t given it much thought, as she had been focusing on finding a way home. Now, however, she _really_ wished she had.

The egg began shaking more and more violently, and large cracks began to spread across the surface. It could’ve been five minutes or fifty, Helena didn’t really know. She was in a state of shock. But as one of the cracks hit another, a small snout suddenly appeared from the depths of the egg. It disappeared quickly, only to reappear again, pushing out another part of the shell. Slowly but steadily the dragon hatchling got out of the egg, covered in a membrane and all slimy. As it finally got out of the egg, it stumbled slightly out onto Helena’s duvet. Not giving any indication that it had seen Helena, it started cleaning itself of the membrane.

Helena just stood there, frozen, observing the hatchling. Occasionally it emitted a sound that was kind of a mix between a growl and a whine, which made the witch smile. It was beautiful, Helena had to admit. It couldn’t be much larger than the length of her underarm. It was a deep red colour, not much unlike the shade of the rubies which represented Gryffindor’s house points in the hourglasses at Hogwarts. From its head and down along its spine, all the way to the tip of its tail, small spikes protruded – that was, but from a small hollow where the neck and the shoulders met. It had a full set of razor-sharp teeth, as far as Helena could see, the incisors being curved and stuck out just over the lower lip. The teeth and the fangs were the purest white and were reminding Helena of the marble that made up Gringotts entrance hall and facade. And it had a pair of startling blue eyes, which was split down the middle by black, vertical pupils.

Helena frowned when she saw the legs. There were _four_ of them. That was just yet another clue that she wasn’t on Earth. All the dragons that she knew of only had one pair of legs, the hind legs, and a pair of wings – kind of like a bat. They were also called wyverns, but since dragons with four legs _and_ a pair of wings had died out on Earth several millennia ago, the words ‘wyvern’ and ‘dragon’ had become interchangeable. And, yet, here in front of her sat a dragon, which wasn’t a wyvern, cleaning itself. At least that explained some of why it hadn’t needed the constant heat to develop inside the egg.

Helena’s small smile dropped when the pair of blue eyes shifted to meet hers. Both dragon and witch stood frozen for nigh a minute, before the dragon, almost excitedly, began walking over towards Helena. Well, ‘walking’ was perhaps giving the hatchling too much credit, because it kept tripping over folds in the duvet. However, that wasn’t on Helena’s mind: the dragon hatchling was on _top_ of a bed and was hastily approaching the side. Helena didn’t know much of dragon hatchlings, but she knew tumbling off of a bed couldn’t be good, especially if it landed wrong. So, it was almost with panic that Helena all but bolted across the room, trying to stop the dragon from going further.

The very moment her left hand touched the dragon, it felt like ice-water and lightning rushed through her. Dropping to the floor, Helena gasped violently. It was as if her magical core was going out of control, lashing out through her body. Again and again, it was like dragon-fire rushing through her veins. It was all Helena could think about, all she could hear. Merlin, it hurt. It was like being under the Cruciatus Curse, but different. Even if it hurt, there wasn’t any maleficent intent behind it.

Eventually the pain ebbed away, leaving a gasping and wheezing witch on the floor. It was only then that she felt the pressure on her chest, and when she looked up, she looked straight into the blue eyes of the dragon. A fraction of a second later, a tendril of thoughts pressed against her consciousness, full of question, confusion, and concern. While Helena would’ve usually shut her Occlumency barriers up without hesitation, the way that this consciousness had pressed against hers was unlike any way she had felt before. Legilimency was a sharp and crude instrument, which broke through all defences, took what it wanted, and left a devastated mind behind. This was why it wasn’t used to simply contact people for the kick of it. It was a miracle that Dumbledore had developed his Legilimency skills so much that he could read the surface-thoughts of people he had eye contact with, without them even noticing – but that didn’t mean, that if you investigated the mind, that you couldn’t see that someone had used Legilimency on that mind. Therefore was it apparent that it wasn’t Legilimency which was being used on her: the touch was much softer, and it almost tingled; it kind of felt like a feather sliding across the surface of her mind.

If that didn’t shock the witch, getting a mental picture of herself writhing in pain on the floor of her room from the dragon’s point of view did. It was with startled eyes that she tried pushing at the boundaries of her mind, only to find there to be nothing preventing her from spilling out. It was an unnerving feeling. It was only a moment later that she found the mind of the dragon, and concluded that it _was_ the dragon who had felt concern for her.

Slowly, Helena sat up. The dragon moved slightly back to allow her to do it but didn’t move off of her. Sitting in her lap, it looked up at her with those big, blue, adoring eyes.

Full of wonder, Helena extended her hand to pet it. Crooning, the dragon put its head up against her hand. It was quickly becoming apparent, that while this was a dragon, it was nothing like a wyvern. Even Noberta had snapped after Hagrid’s hands a few times after it hatched. Helena didn’t doubt that the dragon could be dangerous, and if it wanted to, it could hurt her already now. But there was something instinctual that told her that she didn’t have to fear this dragon. Merlin, even her _magic_ crooned with the dragon. It revelled being in close proximity to the dragon and enveloped the reptile in a warm cocoon. All the while this happened; the contact between their minds wasn’t broken, not once.

It was as she petted the dragon that a part of her palm reflected the light of the lit candle. Retrieving her hand from the dragon, ignoring the whining that erupted from the reptile, Helena looked with a frown at her hand. In the middle of her left palm was a silver, diffused spiral oval marking. Tilting her hand back and forward, it was clear that it was what had reflected the fire. Touching it, she had expected to feel something like steel, or perhaps scar-tissue. But instead, it felt like ordinary skin – though, now with reflective properties.

Her musing was interrupted by growling. No, it wasn’t the dragon, per se – it was its stomach. The red hatchling was looking surprised about, clearly not having heard such a sound before. It was with a light laughter that Helena picked up the hatchling – which made it croon once again – and put it back up on the bed. Ignoring the whines that once again erupted from it, Helena grabbed her bag and withdrew a medium sized sack. As she opened the sack, another long growl was emitted from the dragon’s stomach. Again, the dragon jumped in surprise but stilled as the smell of fresh (Thank Morgana for Conservative Charms), raw meat made its way to its nostrils. Not wanting to test out how long the hatchling would wait, Helena quickly threw it three large slices of beef. The dragon pounced at the meat the moment it had hit the bed, leaving no doubt that if it wanted to, it could do great harm.

Helena walked to the desk and sat down in the chair, once again just observing the red dragon hatchling. She really shouldn’t think that a dragon tearing into meat was cute, especially with her experience, but she did. She didn’t doubt that this whole situation had just become that much more complicated, but somehow Helena didn’t mind. There was something special about that dragon, nothing less would make her magic act up as it did.

A burp from the dragon, as it finished the first piece of beef, brought a smile to Helena’s face.

No, she didn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may recognise this story. I did have it up on another account under the same name. I hit a pretty rough patch (that's putting it mildly), and I deleted many things, including what essentially was my account. I rejoined a little while ago but was too... ashamed, I guess, to admit to who I was. But I am better now, so when I found the files to this story, I decided it was time to put it up again.  
> I know Najex has written his own version of this story, and after chatting with him and having read through his story, I’m fine with him keeping it up. I’m quite flattered, to be honest. While the stories begin quite similarly, Najex has a different path in mind. This will especially become apparent once we hit Book Two and Du Weldenvarden.  
> Synthesis


	2. How To Raise Your Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena, if you don’t mind me asking...” Jeod starting, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You are not from around these parts, are you?”  
> “I’m not,” Helena told him candidly, not looking away from him. “I am not at all from around these parts. And I do not know how to get home. If you don’t mind, I would like to keep it at that.” It was said a little more stiffly than the witch had intended.  
> “Of course,” Jeod smiled sadly. “I’m sorry that you can’t find your way home. I’m guessing that is why you had need of my library, to learn about the land?”  
> “It is,” the witch nodded. “It doesn’t seem like I will be able to get home in the foreseeable future, so I’ve been trying my best to fit in as much as possible. And to do that, I need to know the history of this land.” Looking around Jeod’s library, she continued. “Your library is quite extensive, and it has helped me considerably. But one of the gaps in my knowledge of this land is about the dragons and the Dragon Riders. It’s quite an important chapter, I would think – at least if you judge by what isn’t written in these books.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

The next morning when Helena awoke, her body was sore. It was much like how she had awoken in the middle of the wilds in the Spine weeks before, just to a lesser extent. Her soreness was focused on the silver mark on her hand, where the ruby dragon had touched her for the first time, and lessened the farther away from the mark a body part was. The witch sighed deeply: she was beginning to get real tired of being sore. She was about to turn over and go back to sleep when she noticed a warm weight on her chest. Opening her eyes, she was met with the curious stare of the dragon.

It was lying curled together on her chest, resembling a cat an awful lot, and was using one of her breasts as a pillow. It was lying with open eyes, patiently waiting for when she would wake up. The moment it had noticed her looking back at it, it became excited, getting up and trying to get closer to her face. Helena couldn’t help but laugh out loud at it, and sat up while making sure the dragon wouldn’t fall off of her. For a quarter of an hour, she just sat on her bed petting the dragon. From their mental link, Helena could tell it was absolute heaven for the dragon. It would twist and turn, as to make her scratch it _everywhere_. The witch soon discovered the spot, just below its neckline, which would make the dragon all but pudding in her arms.

Before too long, the dragon’s stomach began to growl insistently. Helena thought it amusing, as the dragon itself didn’t seem to be able to either growl or roar yet. It was more high-pitched squeaking and barking than growling and roaring that emanated from the ruby dragon’s chest. Again, the dragon seemed startled at the sound, as it looked alert around the room to find the source. It was with a laugh that Helena rose from the bed, with the dragon, and sat down on the floor. The dragon observed with great interest as she grabbed her bag and retrieved the bag of beef from it. Immediately the memory of the evening before sprung to the forefront of the dragon’s mind. That surprised the witch: she would think it too young to make such connections – evidentially it was not.

Helena threw three pieces of beef onto the floor, which the dragon immediately tore into. She watched the cuteness for a few moments, before her own stomach began to growl, demanding to be fed as well. Retrieving a piece of pastry and an orange, she sat back up against the wall and observed the dragon eat its breakfast as she ate her own.

While she didn’t regret becoming one of these ‘Dragon Riders’, it surely complicated things. For one thing, other than knowing that the Black King was the last Dragon Rider and that he had slaughtered the old Order of the Dragon Riders, she didn’t know anything about Dragon Riders, or dragons for that matter. Yes, sure, she knew _some_ about wyverns, but that wasn’t nearly enough – comparing a dragon to a wyvern, was like comparing a human to some great ape: while there were similarities, there were also _important_ differences. She had already stumbled across two things: dragon eggs didn’t need to be heated, and dragon hatchlings were able to eat raw meat just fine. From what Hagrid had told her in one of his fanatic ravings about wyverns, they would only eat meat that had been partly digested and then regurgitated by their mothers. And, momentarily ignoring her lack of knowledge, there was also the question of where exactly she should raise this hatchling: while she _might_ – and that was a huge assumption on her part – be able to raise it a few days inside her room at the inn, sooner or later someone would discover it and then she would be in big trouble. In fact, being discovered as a Dragon Rider was _exactly_ the kind of attention that she _didn’t_ want. She had already gotten an unfortunate reputation of being a foreign rich girl, who threw her wealth around her without a second thought. Although she would admit, she hadn’t done as much as she could to discourage the reputation – and what they said weren’t completely incorrect, but she would’ve much rather have stayed anonymous. That didn’t matter now, however. The point being made was that the dragon couldn’t stay in her room at the inn forever. Apart from the impracticality of it, it would also be cruel: the dragon was an animal, and it deserved to be free.

A massive burp which was accompanied by grey smoke broke her out of her reverie. She looked at the smoke. Wyverns weren’t able to breathe fire before they were about a year old, but that might not apply to dragons. That was just another reason to find someplace else she could raise the dragon; she noted as she looked around the _wooden_ room.

Helena glanced down at the dragon once she felt contentment flowing through their mind link. It was licking some of the blood off of the wooden floors. Helena spotted the wicked hooked barbs which were all over the pink muscle and put up a mental note of never letting the dragon lick her – not unless she wanted to be flayed alive. When the dragon had licked up the last drop of blood, it lazily crawled over to her, where it curled together at her side before going promptly to sleep. Again, Helena smiled, as she was reminded that it was basically just a baby. A rush of unexpected affection bubbled up in her, and she enveloped the ruby dragon in her mind. Her magic hummed in contentment along with the dragon.

Once she had finished her own breakfast, Helena picked up the sleeping dragon and put it on her pillow. It was rousing slightly, but Helena soothed it with her mind, and it went back to sleep. The witch snorted lightly: it indeed was just like a baby. Going over to the windows, she was about to wipe the drapes to the sides when she stopped herself. That might not be the best of ideas. But what should she do? She found herself to be somewhat clueless about it, and she did not like it at all.

The best place to start would be to hit the books, as they inevitably had _some_ information about dragons – and hopefully not just the best way to hunt them. The Black and Potter libraries both contained ancient books, and some of them might even have been written when dragons still roamed Earth. Of course, she couldn’t be sure that the dragons from Earth and the dragons from Alagaësia were the same, but it was the best she could think of at the moment.

Casting a silent Accio on her bag, she yelped when her right palm lit up like a _Lumos_ charm gone awry. Her surprise didn’t end there, as she felt much more power be released at her incantation than what was normal, which caused the bag to speed through the air like a bullet. She only just ducked in time before the bag would’ve hit her; she might have been a Quidditch-player who had experience with bludgers, but that did not mean she enjoyed getting hurt. The bag hit the wall behind her with a hard ‘thud’, before it fell down onto the desk. Helena didn’t give it much heed, instead looking wonderingly and more than just slightly frightened down at her palm.

The silver mark didn’t glow anymore, but Helena didn’t doubt that it had been the spot where so much power had flowed from her magical core. She should’ve felt a noticeable drain from her core after having released so much power, but she didn’t. The drain was barely noticeable and was not at all consistent with her having cast a Summoning Charm with the power of a few dozen Blasting Curses behind it. But how was such a thing even possible? Freezing for a moment, Helena looked up at the sleeping dragon resting on the pillow. Just what in Merlin’s, Morgana’s, and every ancient wizard’s and witch’s name had happened the evening before when she had touched the dragon?

With a heavy frown, she got up on her feet again. Lifting her left hand where the mark was on, palm up, she spoke clearly, “Lumos.”

Again, the silver marking lit up, and a rush of magic flowed to it. Helena’s magic was channelled out through the mark, before forming a reasonably sized ball of pure light. Helena frowned even more profoundly when she saw the colour: it was ruby. While it was true that an overcharged Lumos Charm would glow deep red colour, it would never shine ruby. Add that to the fact that, again, the amount of magic that had flowed through her at the activation of the charm had been far more considerable than she had meant for, and that the silver mark had kind of felt like a wand core... It was pretty safe to say that she was worried.

Sighing, she extinguished the light with a verbal “Nox” – not daring to do it non-verbally before she had figured out just what the hell was happening to her magic –, she decided to focus on the dragon first. She could survive without using magic immediately; the same couldn’t necessarily be said about the dragon. Grabbing her bag, she withdrew the first of many stacks of books and began skimming through them.

For two whole days, Helena was buried elbow-deep in books. While there was a lot of interesting, and disturbing, information about wyverns, there was little to no information about the ‘pure’ dragons. According to _Fantastical Beasts of the Past_ , dragons had never had the population numbers of other creatures, but they had survived since they had been incredibly long-lived. That was until about 1000 B.C. where a sect of wizards and Muggles hunted them down. It saddened her but wasn’t a huge surprise to her; the practice of studying and protecting magical creatures was a reasonably new idea; the formal founding of magizoology was attributed to Newt Scamander in the late nineteen-twenties. Since the practice of studying magical creatures only sprung up about three millennia after the extinction of the pure dragon, was the reason why almost no information existed about them.

When the dragon woke her on the third day since it hatched by pouncing on her stomach, Helena realised how much it had grown in only about fifty hours. Helena hadn’t taken exact measurements, but whereas it had been about the size of her forearm just after it had hatched, it was now about the size of her _whole_ arm. If it continued to grow like that, then it soon wouldn’t even fit through the doorway. She needed to sneak it out of the inn, and out of Teirm. The only question was how.

The most straightforward answer would be to cast strong Notice-Me-Not Charms and Disillusionment Charms on both of them, but Helena wasn’t sure how the dragon would react to the magic. Wyverns were almost impervious to spells, a product of thousands of years of natural selection due to them being hunted down by wizards. She wasn’t sure if the same was true with dragons. And if you ignored that fact, her magic was still acting crazy: she had tried casting a few easy charms during the last two days, but all of them drew much too much power, even when she tried not to. With the Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment Charms, the danger didn’t lie in her accidentally blowing them up, but that the spells might work _too_ well. No, one couldn’t get even more invisible, but the charms could last much longer than one intended.

In the end, Helena decided that the only solution was to get her magic, if not entirely (which was highly unlikely), then at least under a mediocre amount of control – enough so that she could cast the two charms. She would then hide the dragon in a satchel and cast the charms on it, and on herself, and sneak out. It was a far cry from a perfect plan, but it was what she had.

Merlin, she already missed being able to Apparate.

She used the next three days trying to perfect the two charms as much as possible, her test subjects being Galleons. It was a frustrating process, and it got to her more than she would like to admit. This was a charm she had been able to cast for years now and yet because of whatever had happened to her when she made a connection with the dragon, she couldn’t control her magic. She was like an opera singer who would belt out, when all she wanted to do was hum to herself a bit.

All throughout the process, the dragon was by her side. It looked very curiously at what she was doing, taking in everything. The times she sat down to take breaks, the dragon would be with her within a few seconds. Just sitting with it, petting it, calmed her down. It was amazing.

The witch also soon discovered just how intelligent the dragon was. It was nothing like the beasts that the wyverns were: While it couldn’t quite speak yet (though it had connected a few objects to their corresponding words), it could communicate. For now, it was just by feelings and images. An imprecise method of communication it might be, but Helena couldn’t feel prouder of it, and did her best to teach it to ‘speak’. Each night she would sit with it in her lap and read out loud in her mind. And as much as she wanted to teach the dragon, the dragon seemed to want to learn just as much.

By the end of the fifth day since the dragon hatched, she was sure there were a couple hundred invisible gold coins in her room, but it was worth it. And just in time, it seemed: the dragon was now three times as large as it had been when it had hatched. Understandably, she had a hard time getting the dragon to cooperate, but after successfully communicating that she was going to take it outside, it suddenly was able to lie very still. Helena didn’t blame it: she had seen the way it had looked wistfully out of the windows and up into the sky. When that had happened, she had each time been filled with so much guilt. It had fuelled her determination to get the charms right even more.

Helena snuck out of Teirm with the dragon in the early morning of the sixth day since the dragon had hatched. The gates had only just been opened, and the only ones in sight were the two gate guards. They were still half asleep, so Helena, being invisible and all, slipped by with no problem. She didn’t take the dragon out of the satchel right away, wanting to get further away from the city. The witch didn’t think it likely that someone would be wandering the wilds at little past six in the morning, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Finally, after having walked briskly through the undergrowth of a forest for twenty minutes, did she dispel the charms and released the dragon.

It had looked around with wide blue eyes, taking in everything and not missing anything. Helena would’ve thought that it would’ve rushed around, trying to discover more about its surroundings. Instead, it walked around calmly and peacefully, sniffing and licking at certain things. When it was about to take a lick of an herb which Helena recognised as poisonous, the witch had stopped it by sending it negative feelings. The dragon had stopped and looked inquiringly at her. It took her a good five minutes to explain that it was a ‘bad’ plant, but the dragon thankfully understood it at the end. Helena didn’t know if it would be poisoned as a human would, but she would rather not take the chance.

After letting the dragon explore the forest for about an hour, where she just walked behind it, telling when it was about to do something it might regret (followed by the dragon sometimes doing it anyway, much to Helena’s grief and amusement), the witch took the lead. She needed to find someplace where the dragon could live for now.

As the time had passed the dragon had become more like she had expected it to be from the start, jumping around and playing with itself. She had even seen it try to fly a few times, but it didn’t have much success inside the forest. That meant that the place it would be staying from now on had to be a clearing.

It took a few hours, but finally the witch and the dragon stumbled upon a clearing a few dozen metres wide, a stream cutting through the edge of it. Helena smiled widely: it was perfect. Helena didn’t waste another moment and went to work right away, all the while the dragon played by itself.

It took most of the day, but as the sky began getting tinged in orange, she finished up. As she stepped back and looked at the crudely built hut surrounded by a fence, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. A small voice in the back of her mind snarkily reminded her, that with her wand she would’ve been able to finish the project in a fraction of the time and with a much better result at the end. Helena told the voice to stick it. Besides, if she had finished with just a few swishes and flicks of her wand, she might not have seen the dragon hatchling jump through the clearing, snapping its teeth at a butterfly.

Knowing that the gates of Teirm would close at sunset, and would not open for anyone (perhaps but for the Black King himself), Helena knew she had to get back soon. Never before had it hurt so much to leave someone behind. She had tied the dragon to a tree she had built the hut around, and started walking away. The moment it had grasped what she was doing, it whined like it never had. And it wasn’t the kind of whine it did when it was hungry, or just wanted attention; it was utterly grievous and heart-breaking whines which erupted from the small dragon. Helena almost stayed behind, but in the end continued back: it had to get used to being alone sometimes. Given, she would have liked it to be when it was older as well, but the circumstances begged to differ. She used all her strength to keep up the mental connection for as long as she possibly could, doing her best to sooth the dragon and telling it that she would be back. She honestly didn’t know if it got the message: it was far too distressed for the witch to tell.

The following day Helena had hurried out to the dragon as soon as the gates opened. Merlin, she had been worried. She had perhaps been able to sleep two hours that night, the rest of the time having been spent tossing and turning in concern for the small dragon. She didn’t _think_ a predator would go after it – _come on,_ it was a _dragon_ –, but as she had laid awake that night, she suddenly wasn’t so sure. Should she have built its home up in one of the trees? Should she have shut her eyes to the fact that a few wards might have drawn the attention of other magicians, and cast them around the clearing to keep the dragon safe? Should she, should she, should she... That had been what had filled her night.

Her worries had been for nought, though. As she entered the clearing, the dragon had sat on top of the hut, looking up into the sky. She threw her mind towards it, causing its attention to snap towards her. It tried to bolt towards her in happiness, but was prevented from it by the rope that tied it to the tree. Helena laughed heartfeltly and ran the last few yards over to the dragon, dropping down to greet it the moment she could.

If anyone would’ve told her only a few weeks ago that a dragon would be the most important thing in her life now, she would’ve called them crazy and insisted on having them admitted to Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. After all, she had developed a healthy respect for dragons – read; wyverns – after her two encounters with the reptilians. But here she was, almost confident that she would mourn the dragon more than she had mourned Sirius if it died. Yes, she felt terrible about that fact, but that didn’t lessen the truth in the statement.

Over the next days, the worry didn’t lessen for Helena, but it did get easier. The dragon also soon enough learned that she _was_ coming back every single day. And each day she got back, the dragon had grown even more. It had slowed down considerably, so it didn’t double its size every three days, but it was still proliferating – much more than a wyvern would in any case. As soon as the witch was sure it wouldn’t follow her back into Teirm, Helena had stopped tying it to the tree. Its shoulder was at her waist, and it was far more dangerous than any bear or wolf or mountain lion that might stumble across it. It also helped it to not die of boredom while she was away, as it could now fly far and wide – though Helena had imprinted into its mind _not_ to approach Teirm or fly over the sea, where its sparkling gem-like scales would stick out like a sore thumb.

It was when the dragon was a fortnight old, after it had gotten a light grasp on English, that it asked for a name. Helena had been surprised, and then felt bad. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it. But she hadn’t been able to figure out if it was a male or a female (and, yes, she did know what the pointers to the different genders were, thank you very much), and she didn’t want to stick it with a name that it didn’t like.

After learning that the dragon was in fact male – and when he had told her, she felt slightly stupid, because _of course_ he was male –, Helena had comprised a long list of famous wizards from her books. It was the best she could do, as she didn’t know the names the people of Alagaësia usually named their dragons after.

The witch had felt a little like how she imagined the old wand-crafter Ollivanders must feel when he got a difficult customer (her having been one of them). For _hours_ Helena offered the dragon name after name, where he would then kind of ‘taste’ the name, before telling her _‘no’_ with his increasingly deepening mental voice. There was Uric, Derwent, Newton, Gifford, Roderick, Ignotus, and Donaghan, none of which suited the ruby dragon. Of course, not all were liked by Helena either, but this was the dragon’s choice, not hers, and she respected that. Helena was nearing the end of her list, after the dragon had discarded the name Xavier, when a name caught her eyes. Looking up at the dragon, which blinked back at her with its large blue eyes, the witch couldn’t help but think that the name fit.

‘ _Are you Godric?’_ Helena asked the ruby dragon. ‘ _He was one of the most powerful wizards of his time, and was well known for his chivalry, courage, and strength of heart. He was one of the four founders of Hogwarts, and was the founder of Gryffindor House at the school. I was sorted into Gryffindor_.’

The dragon looked interested, and Helena could see with her mind’s eye how he weighed the name. She smiled widely as she felt a kind of ‘click’ across their connection. He had chosen.

‘ _Yes... I am Godric,_ ’ Godric nodded. Through their mind link, Helena felt just how pleased the dragon was with his new name, and it spilt over into the witch. It was nothing loud and urgent, liked she had imagined it would feel. It was more like a quiet and true contentment, that spread through the centre of his being. Not being able to stop herself, Helena threw the yellowed parchment with hundreds of name to the side and ran over to hug Godric. Deep vibrations erupted from deep within Godric’s chest cavity, his way of showing his pleasure.

Godric... The name indeed did fit him, all the way to the shade of his scales. And while Helena hadn’t known the ruby dragon for long, she knew that he would do his namesake proud.

~ BWaC ~

”Jeod, what do you know about dragons?”

Helena had been contemplating asking the self-titled bibliophile for a couple of days now. The previous day it had been a month since Godric had hatched, and while Helena spent most of her time with her heart’s friend, she also spent a great deal of time going through Jeod’s library. Whereas before she had focused more on information that could lead her to a way home, this time her search was more general. The witch’s primary concern was, for understandable reasons, information about dragons, but she didn’t dismiss other details. If she was to survive in this new land, with a dragon nonetheless, and without drawing attention to herself, she needed to know how to act, and, more importantly, how _not_ to act. The Helena of a few years ago would’ve ignored subtlety, but she knew better now. Jeod’s library held at least some information about almost anything she could think of, but for the subject of dragons and the Dragon Riders. Which was no doubt because of the Black King.

Jeod looked up from his writing desk across the room. He was trying to salvage his trade. It wasn’t going exceptionally well from what Helena had observed. That was part of the reason why Helena insisted on paying more than Jeod had asked for, when she had first approached him about using his library. It was also effortless to do, as both he and his wife, Helen, were pleasant people. Sure, Helen seemed to be affected more than Jeod at her husband’s runabout of bad luck, but it was clear that she loved Jeod and that she was worried about their way of life. Helena couldn’t find it in herself to blame her for that. She had seen the poorest part of town, and it was downright horrible.

“Dragons?” Jeod asked. “Why do you need to know about dragons? Helena, my dear, just what are you researching?”

“Nothing in particular,” Helena half-lied and immediately felt bad about it. She hated lying, but it was necessary this time: she couldn’t exactly tell him that she had become bonded to a dragon, and was raising it just outside of town. She felt Godric snort through their link, and she shared his sentiment: she could just have imagined how that conversation would go. “I was just curious. There are a lot of references to the Black King being a Dragon Rider, but you have almost no books on either the Dragon Riders or dragons.” That much was true.

“I know,” Jeod sighed. “I would love to own on such books, but if it was ever discovered… I’m afraid I could only _hope_ to be robbed of one of my hands.”

Helena’s brow creased at the disturbing hint of how things were. As she had spent time in Teirm, listening in on conversations at the Green Chestnut, the Singing Seagull, and the Merchants’ Market, she had gotten an idea of just how bad life was under the Black King. Helena had known early on that the society she had unwittingly found herself in was far from ideal, but hearing the horror stories of what was happening east of the Spine had well and truly put things into perspective. The witch would give that the rumours that she had overheard had to be taken with a grain of salt, since they _were_ rumours. But with that said, rumours usually had roots in truth.

According to the rumours, creatures by the name of urgals (which she, of course, had looked up as soon as she had heard about them) were running rampant up and down along the western edge of the Hadarac Desert, assaulting travellers, livestock, and even smaller towns. The latest rumour was that a small village by the name of Yazuac had been completely wiped out by the beasts. People were even starting to migrate south, to the larger settlements, away from what was beginning to be called the Northern Massacres. All the while the Black King’s Empire did nothing. It was troubling indeed.

“Helena, if you don’t mind me asking...” Jeod starting, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You are not from around these parts, are you?”

Helena hesitated. While Jeod was a pleasant man, could she truly trust him – if only slightly? People in Teirm knew that she was from out of town, and she had made no effort to try and hide that fact: her features were far too different from the locals’, and she spoke with a British accent which didn’t exist in Alagaësia as far as she had understood from the comments she had received. But no-one knew from how far away or exactly _where_ she was from. No one really questioned her directly, as her wealth was welcomed, but Jeod... He possibly had information that Helena needed. And as she met his eyes across the room, and saw nothing but earnestness, she decided that she could trust him. If only a bit.

“I’m not,” Helena told him candidly, not looking away from him. “I am not at all from around these parts. And I do not know how to get home. If you don’t mind, I would like to keep it at that.” It was said a little more stiffly than the witch had intended. She was slowly starting to accept that she wouldn’t get home, and Godric made it much easier (Merlin, she would’ve been a mess without him), but it was still a sore subject for her. Not even Godric brought it up too much, sensing the hurt that sprung in Helena’s chest each time they talked about it.

“Of course,” Jeod smiled sadly. “I’m sorry that you can’t find your way home. I’m guessing that is why you had need of my library, to learn about the land?”

“It is,” the witch nodded. “It doesn’t seem like I will be able to get home in the foreseeable future, so I’ve been trying my best to fit in as much as possible. And to do that, I need to know the history of this land.” Looking around Jeod’s library, she continued. “Your library is quite extensive, and it has helped me considerably. But one of the gaps in my knowledge of this land is about the dragons and the Dragon Riders. It’s quite an important chapter, I would think – at least if you judge by what _isn’t_ written in these books.”

“It is quite a sizeable subject,” Jeod told her. “And because of how the Black King tries to control knowledge concerning anything that can lessen his rule; I am by no means an expert. I would even dare say that some of what I know – or, rather, what I think I know – could turn out to be outright incorrect.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Helena told him, “but I would still like to know what you know. If you want to tell me that is.”

Jeod sighed, and turned fully to Helena.

“The dragons were one of the earliest races of Alagaësia. Unlike the humans and the elves, they were native to the land, as the dwarves are. When the elves came to Alagaësia, a conflict erupted between them and the dragons. From that conflict, the two races bound themselves together with magic. When eventually the humans arrived as well, bringing conflict with them, the elves invited them to join the pact with the dragons, binding all three races together.”

“The Dragon Riders,” Helena guessed. It was quite impressive, what they had done, and Helena had a hard time imagining just _how_ they had done it. Magical bonds between people weren’t a new thing; house elves bound themselves to wizards and witches to survive, some forms of marriages also involved a bond, and, if you moved in a more serious direction, the Unbreakable Vow was probably the best-known form of a magical bond. But to bind whole races together? The variables and sheer power behind the spell had to have been astronomical.

Jeod nodded. “The Dragon Riders. For millennia they upheld order over the land, and elves, humans, dwarves, and dragons lived in relative peace with each other. And then, a century ago, Galbatorix was chosen by a dragon.”

“ _Chosen_ by a dragon?” Helena asked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The dragon eggs that were given to the Order of the Dragon Riders chose who they would hatch to,” Jeod told the Dragon Rider in front of him. “They could stay unhatched for decades, even centuries, before they chose a human or elf that they found worthy.”

Helena sat stunned. That meant that Godric had _chosen_ her. The witch felt deeply honoured by the simple fact. She felt Godric brush further against her mind from his clearing, admonishing her slightly. It was as if he was telling her, that _of course,_ he chose her. A moment later he retreated back into his own mind – though, as it had been for about a week now, a small thread still connected them –, and went to sleep.

Jeod chuckled at Helena’s expression. “It is quite amazing, I agree.”

“It is,” Helena nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “But... Galbatorix was chosen by a dragon?”

“Yes,” Jeod sighed, his amusement disappearing at the mention of the serious subject. “It is from here that I am not sure what happened. Galbatorix lost his first dragon, somehow gained a new one, and went up against the Order with his Forsworn – Dragon Riders who sided with the Black King and betrayed the Order. I don’t know how they did it, but they slaughtered every last one of the Dragon Riders and the dragons. The Forsworn has since then died, the last of them, Morzan, only dying a few years ago. But that hasn’t weakened the Black King’s hold over the land. He has ruled with an iron fist ever since The Fall.”

“Isn’t there anyone who fights against him?” Helena asked with a frown. “I hear people talk. While some people live relatively well, most don’t. Haven’t you heard of what is happening in the north?”

“I have.” Jeod looked troubled. Then lowering his voice, he whispered, “And there _are_ people who are fighting against the Black King. They are named the Varden.”

“The Varden? Who are the Varden?”

“Shhh,” Jeod shushed her. “Not so loudly! Even talking about them will get you a one-way trip to the gallows hill.”

While Helena was troubled by it, she couldn’t help but to wryly think, that at least she wouldn’t be burnt at the stakes.

“Sorry.”

Jeod nodded. “Just know that they are out there, doing their best.”

“I will,” Helena told him.

The Varden...

If Helena couldn’t get home, she was not going to live under a tyrant like Galbatorix. She didn’t exactly believe the Black King would be understanding of her, when she would tell him that she wasn’t planning to serve him. And there was no way that she would let him get to Godric – she would rather be tortured to insanity by the Cruciatus Curse than let that bastard touch him. Only after knowing the dragon for a month, Godric had become more important to Helena than any other person in Helena’s life. Galbatorix wouldn’t lay a finger on him, she swore it.

But did that mean that she could not simply live in peace with Godric? From what she had learned about Galbatorix, he wouldn’t rest if he knew that there was another Dragon Rider out there. He would hunt her down, and either force her to serve him (which she wouldn’t let him), or he would kill her.

That left her with two choices: flee Alagaësia as soon as she could, knowing that she might get into an even worse situation, or somehow join the resistance against the Black King. Right away Helena knew that she couldn’t just flee. While this wasn’t her home, she had seen how some of the people lived here. She just couldn’t leave them behind, leave them to suffer at the hands of the Black King and his empire. It wasn’t in her nature: she was a Gryffindor at heart.

Helena sighed. It would take more than just a single afternoon to process the information she had just received.

“Thank you, Jeod, for telling me,” Helena smiled softly at him.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Jeod nodded. With a sigh, he turned back to his desk, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will need to get back to saving my business.”

“Of course, I need to get going either way,” Helena told him, as she rose from her seat and picked up her bag. “Please say hello to Helen for me.”

“Will do, dear. Will do.”

Exiting Jeod’s house, Helena slowed down as she walked past the sole odd store on the street. She had walked past it dozens of times by now, and had sometimes seen a woman not much older than herself sitting out front with a frog. Of course, Helena had been curious about the store: all the other stores, shops, and stalls were gathered in clumps around the different markets, and down by the gate towards the mountains. And, yet, this store sat in the smack middle of a residential neighbourhood of merchants. It would be less odd if the shop bartered towards those merchants, but it looked more like a shop belonging in Diagon Alley than anything else: it was dark, the wood of the sign that spelled out ‘Angela’s Herbs and Aromatics’ was chipped, and the windows were covered from the insides by climbing plants.

Noting the position of the sun, Helena guessed the time to be about three in the afternoon. That left her with a few hours before the gates closed. As she had said, they closed at sunset and not a minute later, which meant that they closed reasonably early here in the winter time.

‘ _Godric?_ ’ she asked as she widened their mental connection.

‘ _Yes?_ ’ Godric’s deep and harmonious voice replied sleepily after a second.

‘ _Would you mind terribly if I was a bit late?_ ’ Helena asked of the dragon. ‘ _I want to check out this shop. There is something... odd about it._ ’

The witch immediately felt the displeasure flowing from the ruby dragon. She hid her amusement from him, knowing it would only make it worse. But, really, sometimes he acted up like a little kid. Given, he was just a month old, but most of the time he was acting so dignified and noble. And, then, at other times he could get so moody. Helena knew it was partly her fault for spoiling him so much, but she just couldn’t help it.

‘ _I will buy you a few salmons from the harbour,_ ’ the witch bribed Godric, a tiny fraction of her amusement flowing through the link despite her effort. The salmons were like candy for the ruby dragon, his chocolate if you would. Helena had bought it on a whim one of the days, and boy was she glad she had.

‘ _... Fine,_ ’ Godric finally agreed. ‘ _But they better be the good kind. Not those small ones with tattered fins._ ’

‘ _I will do my best to buy some without tattered fins,_ ’ Helena told him in mock seriousness. She could all but feel him roll his eyes. Literally. He broke off their connection a moment later.

Shaking her head in amusement, Helena entered the shop. Like the outside, the insides reminded her strongly of some of the potions and ingredients shops in Diagon Alley. It was a bittersweet feeling, but didn’t hurt as much as she had expected it to. It was... good.

The odd store was coloured in a light green tinge due to the plants covering the windows, the chandelier of lit candles hanging from the ceiling helping next to nothing about that. The room was filled with plants, many of which Helena recognised as herbs used in potions and concoctions, and a parrot hung in a cage in the corner – it gave her a bored look, before going back to sleep. At the other end of the small room, a counter stood in front of a few bookshelves and a door leading further into the building, the counter being filled with the most curious instruments, none of which Helena recognised the purpose for. It was kind of like how Dumbledore’s office had been – well, at least before she had thrashed it at the end of her Fifth Year.

Helena let her fingers run lightly over some of the instruments, before she made it to a crystal ball at the end of the counter. It was larger than the ones she had used in Third Year in divination – the only year she had taken the woolly subject. The crystal balls from back then had been the size of cantaloupe melon, whereas this crystal ball was more the size of a human skull. More to humour herself than anything else, she reached out with her magic, poking the crystal ball, as she tried to focus on her ‘inner eye’. As expected, the only thing she saw in the crystal ball was her own distorted reflection. Snorting to herself, she walked away from the crystal ball.

The witch startled slightly as a cat jumped down from its position on the top of one of the bookshelves. It landed on the counter with a light thud, where it stretched as only a cat could, before lying down and observed her. Helena frowned as she looked it over: it was nothing like any cat she had ever seen before. It was larger than any purebred cat and its black coat far too wild and messy. But what really stood out were its red eyes. It gave the witch the shivers: it reminded her all too much of Tom Riddle. Thankfully, unlike Tom’s eyes, the cat’s eyes held no malice in them, only curiosity with a frightening edge of intelligence. If Helena hadn’t known better, she would’ve said that she was looking at a Kneazle. But it couldn’t be: a Kneazle wasn’t able to have black fur, its ears were far larger, and its tail was like a lion’s. The cat in front of her possessed none of those features. Then, perhaps, it was a half-breed, like Crookshanks was.

That was the moment when a foreign mind pressed against her own – a mind that wasn’t Godric’s. Her mind and Godric’s hadn’t truly separated for a little over a week by now, so she knew the dragon’s mind exceptionally well. The mind that was now pressing against her mind was foreign altogether, and that could be dangerous.

Her instincts took over, and her Occlumency barriers shut down around her mind with a bang, cutting off even Godric. She knew the ruby dragon would be worried, but she could worry about that later: right now she had to locate her assailant.

It didn’t take long to find the one who had approached her mind. The moment her barriers had been put up, the cat had jumped with a frightened hiss. It had quickly calmed down, however, and was now all but frowning at her.

Slowly she lowered her Occlumency barrier, ready to shut them up again at a moment’s notice. Godric connected to her mind within a fraction of a second, but she quickly disconnected their connection again, after explaining what was happening. She couldn’t be connected to his mind when she was about to connect to someone else’s: Godric was a secret that had to be kept, at all costs.

‘ _My, my, what do we have here?_ ’ a purring voice asked in her mind. It was like a child’s voice, and yet it wasn’t. And it was coming from the cat in front of her.

That caused another hiss to erupt from the cat. ‘ _I am **not** a cat. I am a **were** cat, thank you very much!_’

‘ _I... I apologise,_ ’ Helena told the werecat a bit numbly. ‘ _I have never seen or heard of your kind before_.’

The werecat looked up at her, its eyes changing to yellow. ‘ _Nor have I ever met someone of your kind before. It is most curious..._ ’

Helena frowned. ‘ _What do you mean? It’s as plain as day that I am human. Living in a city like Teirm, you must have at least met one of us._ ’

‘ _Oh, yes, humans I have met multitudes of. They are a dreadful bore, to be honest, always too busy to see what is right in front of them_ ,’ the werecat drawled. ‘ _You might look like a human, though an exotic one at that, but your mind betrays your guise. You are neither human, elf, nor dwarf. You do not resemble any race I have encountered before. Most curious, indeed..._ ’

Helena was struck dumb at that. She wasn’t human? Well, she knew she was. But she was also a witch, something more than human, some said. Were Muggles and Wizardkind really so different? Helena had always known there were differences, of course: wizards could do magic, and Muggles couldn’t, and wizards could see some magical beings, for example, Dementors, which Muggles couldn’t. But to be so different as to be thought a whole other race altogether?

The witch decided to change the subject before she got a migraine.

‘ _Are there a lot of werecats around these parts?_ ’ she asked the werecat.

Helena felt like she was sent a mental shrug. ‘ _We are here, and we are there. Most of us prefer to keep to ourselves, just like others like to keep other races company._ ’

‘ _Are you, perchance, related to the werewolf?_ ’ Helena asked curiously.

‘ _A_ w _ere **wolf**? I can’t say I have had the displeasure of ever encountering or hearing of such a creature,_ ’ the werecat drawled in displeasure. ‘ _Who would’ve thought that a Dragon Rider from the new generation would come from such an odd place_?’

‘ _How did you know that I am a Dragon Rider_ ,’ Helena asked sharply, her body tensing up.

‘ _Peace,_ ’ the werecat said in an almost mocking tone. He held no fears for his safety, that much was clear. Helena didn’t know whether to be impressed or insulted at his bravado. ‘ _You might not be human, but you clearly still share some of their traits. Dragon Riders are easy to spot, if you have eyes to see, ears to hear, and a nose to smell. Just open up your senses, and you are as clear as the sun in the sky_.’

The werecat got up onto all fours and stretched once again, before preparing to jump onto the bookshelf again. It was clear it was finished talking.

‘ _Wait,_ ’ Helena asked of it. _‘What do I call you?_ ’

‘ _You may call me whatever names you can think up,_ ’ the werecat told her plainly. ‘ _I can’t say I will be especially pleased with all the names you might or might not throw my way. Give me your name, Rider, and I shall grant you the honour of knowing mine._ ’

‘ _I am Helichrysa Euphemia Potter,_ ’ Helena told the werecat. She didn’t know why she had told him her full name, much less what her first name _actually_ was. But there was something special about the werecat. Helena didn’t know what. The witch only knew it was essential to be on good terms with him.

‘ _Helichrysa... Such an odd name_ , _and for an even odder person,_ ’ the werecat noted. Yawning, it continued, ‘ _I go by many names, and if you want my True Name, then you’ll have to wait until the end of time. However, if you so please, you may call me Solembum._ ’

And with that, Solembum cut their mental connection, and jumped back to his sleeping spot on top of the bookshelf. He didn’t give her a second look, as he curled together, and went to sleep.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Solembum,” Helena told the werecat honestly. Solembum purred loudly in response, his tail swishing a bit, leaving Helena smiling.

Helena reconnected with Godric, feeling relief at the sensation. As she had thought, the dragon was worried and more than a little angry with her. But at hearing at who and what she had met, he became quiet and curious. Helena was under no illusion that she was later going to hear about how she had basically kicked Godric out of her mind, but at least for now the dragon let the subject rest. Helena could feel he was just as relieved as she was to be connected again. As much as Helena worried about him, he worried about her as well.

After another few minutes with the owner nowhere to be seen, Helena was about to exit. That was when the owner finally showed up: the door swung open just as Helena had turned away from one of the bookshelves, showing the woman Helena had seen a few times outside of the store. As the witch had said, the owner didn’t look much older than Helena, being twenty-one or twenty-two at eye estimation. She was of short stature, perhaps only reaching Helena to the chest, and had thick, curly brown hair which fell to her shoulders. Her features weren’t something you saw around Teirm, but nothing like Helena’s features, and she had murky-green eyes. Currently, her arms were carrying a fairly sized basket, full of herbs and glass bottles with different coloured concoctions in them.

The woman, who Helena guessed was Angela, didn’t notice her right away. Only when she had closed the door behind her did she look up at Helena in surprise. And then she looked up at Solembum. She looked back at Helena with a shocked expression.

“He spoke to you?”

“In a manner,” Helena noted humorously. They hadn’t _spoken_ per say, as no words other than Helena’s parting had been uttered.

A glint appeared in Angela’s eyes as she smiled. “Ah, another person with wit. I like that.”

Helena inclined her head. She then glanced up at Solembum. “He doesn’t speak to a lot of people, does he?”

Angela shook her head, as she walked past Helena, depositing the bag behind the counter. “Solembum doesn’t talk much, period.”

“Is he yours?”

“Gods, no,” Angela laughed. “Solembum isn’t owned by anyone. He just follows me around – finds me interesting, I suppose.”

“It isn’t hard to see why,” Helena complimented her, and looked around the store. “It isn’t every day you find a shop like this.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Angela smiled. “Well, can I help you with anything, dear? I have many herbs and potions for sale. The gentlemen around here usually buy aphrodisiacs, but you don’t look like one who will need that.”

“No, but I thank you,” Helena laughed. “I’m afraid I’m all stocked up on potions and herbs. I really only came in to look around because I was curious. As I said, it isn’t every day you find a shop quite like yours.”

“Oh,” Angela perked up. “We have another herbalist here, do we? Well, it is no _wonder_ then that you are sharp of wit. Tell me, what would you rather use in a calming draught: a feather from a horned owl, or a feather from a snowy owl?”

“Neither,” Helena answered almost out of reflex. No, she had never been a master at potions, mainly because she had had Snape as a teacher. But in her Sixth Year, when she had had Professor Slughorn, she had gotten a lot more interested, especially after having learned about her mother’s affinity for the subject. “A feather from a spotted owl is of much more use in a calming draught; a tail feather to be exact. Feathers from horned owls are of better use in aphrodisiacs, as you must know, and the feathers of snowy owls are used in potions that sharpen your wit.”

“My, my, colour me impressed,” Angela nodded, as she scribbled down notes on a parchment. “You must be a master potioneer.”

“Not really,” Helena shrugged. “I just had a good teacher.”

“Well, either way, I thank you, oh clever one,” Angela answered with cheek and a wink. Glancing up at Solembum, she told Helena, “How about I predict your future as a thank you?” Helena looked sceptically at the crystal ball on the counter, which caused the herbalist to break out in laughter. “Ah, don’t worry about that thing: it is only for looks. I have something lying around in the back which is much better.”

“As much as I appreciate the gesture, I think I will pass,” the witch answered. “I don’t have very pleasant experiences with prophecies. I would much rather live my life, without knowing what is going to happen tomorrow and the day after. Makes for a much more exciting life, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” Angela answered, her eyes sparkling. “I must say, you are the most interesting person I have met in a few decades. And that’s not said so easily, mind you.”

“ _Decades_?” Helena raised her eyebrow. “You don’t look much older than twenty-one at most.”

“Oh, don’t let appearances fool you, girl,” Angela smiled. “I assure you, I am much older than I look. My youthful appearance most likely stems from having to eat some of my own herbs, when funds run low.”

“That is... interesting,” Helena said, unsure how to respond. A mental poke from Godric made her aware of the time, and she realised just how much time she had spent in the store. “I’m sorry, but I will have to leave now: I have a prior engagement. I am sure I will see you again, though.”

“That I can agree on,” Angela grinned. “And say hello to old Jeod from me. And wish him luck with that shipping business of his.”

“How did you know I know Jeod?” Helena asked.

Angela rolled her eyes as if it was apparent. “I’ve seen you visit him almost daily. If I didn’t know how honourable that man was, I would almost put you to be a lady on the side.”

Helena flushed bright red, at that. “I assure you, I am not.”

“Of course not,” Angela dismissed. “Well, off you go now.” The herbalist didn’t wait, much like the werecat hadn’t, and turned around to walk into the back of the store.

Helena was left not really knowing what had happened. The herbalist was interesting, that was for sure. Shaking her head, she walked out of the store, instantly getting refreshed with a deep breath of fresh air.

The witch hurried down to the market by the harbour, bought a couple of salmons (without flayed fins), and rushed to meet Godric. She winced at the position of the sun, calculating that she had used almost an hour inside Angela’s store. That left only about two hours to spend with Godric, since running to and from his clearing took a while as well.

Oh well, live and learn as they say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing major has been changed in this chapter. I’ve worded some things differently, and corrected some grammar mistakes, but that is it. I hoped you enjoyed it. I want to thank you all for the welcome back. I don’t want to apologise for what happened, but I’m owning up to it. I’m going to work my hardest to earn back whatever trust might have been lost.  
> Synthesis


	3. Beauty, Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sod off, Martha, you daft bimbo!”  
> Eragon’s eyes widened and his heartbeat accelerated as he recognized the voice. Turning around, he saw the young lady from yesterday. She was currently glaring at the woman, Martha, and had her hands on her hips.  
> “Why you-“Martha began to hiss, her face red in embarrassment. Several people at the stands looked their way, but the young lady seemed none too bothered by it. The same could not be said for Martha.  
> “Can’t you see he is just a boy!?” his saviour exclaimed. He bristled a bit at the comment, but he kept his mouth shut. “You should be ashamed! Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Teirm was nothing like Eragon had ever seen in his life: it looked like it was ready for war. He would admit to not actually having seen much in his almost sixteen years – really, he had only seen Carvahall and its surrounding wildlands, along with what he had seen on his journey with Brom –, but that didn’t make the coastal city any less impressive. He would never have imagined that a city could be built as Teirm had been. It seemed that each day they traveled, he became more and more surprised at just how big the world was. And the real kicker was this: they had only traversed a fraction of it. It was a very humbling experience.

In the last two months of Eragon’s life, everything had been turned upside down, and it had all begun with him finding Saphira’s egg in the spine. If it hadn’t been for her, Eragon wouldn’t have become a Dragon Rider, Garrow wouldn’t have been killed, and Eragon wouldn’t have left Carvahall. In fact, if Saphira hadn’t come along, Eragon would’ve grown up like any other boy in Carvahall: he would’ve had a coming-of-age party once he had turned sixteen, he would’ve found a woman he cared for and courted and hopefully eventually married her, he would then have children, raise them, and grow old. Eragon would’ve died in a warm bed surrounded by his children and grandchildren, looking forward to rejoining with his wife in the afterlife. It was true that it wouldn’t have been the most exciting life, but it would’ve been a _good_ life, a life he would’ve been content with.

None of that would happen now, because of him finding Saphira’s egg. And, yet, Eragon didn’t blame the dragon one bit.

To lose Saphira would be like losing the other half of himself. While Eragon had been scared more than he would care to admit at the beginning, Saphira, even with all that occurred, was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Were there things he wished he had handled differently? Definitely. Would he wish that those things had never happened? No. It was an awful thing to say about your Uncle’s murder, but the only way Eragon saw it never taking place, was if Saphira’s egg hadn’t come to him in the Spine. As horrible as it had been to find Garrow’s body, losing Saphira would be unbearable.

The young Dragon Rider followed quietly after Brom through Teirm, letting the old storyteller take the lead. While he was carrying a lot of secrets, far too many than Eragon was really comfortable with, Eragon trusted the old man with his life. Brom might have a hard exterior and was a strict teacher, but Eragon had learned it was only because he cared so much. He pushed people he cared about, pushed Eragon, so that they wouldn’t die. For that alone Eragon would be eternally grateful, and had earned him the benefit of Eragon’s doubts.

Eragon concluded that Brom had experience with how to act in a big city, after he learned where Jeod lived from a man in the Green Chestnut. Perhaps he had grown up in a big city? Maybe even Teirm itself? If he was honest with himself, Eragon had a hard time imagining it. To him, even after the discoveries he had made the last few months, Brom was the wise storyteller from Carvahall. But, of course, he had lived elsewhere before he had come to the small village by the Spine some fifteen years ago.

It didn’t take long for the two to get to the western end of Teirm. The herbalist’s shop was easy to find, being the only shop in that part of town. It gave Eragon chills, with how you couldn’t even look inside of it due to how plants covered up the windows. Outside of the shop sat a short woman with curly hair, a frog in one hand and a pen in the other, furiously scribbling onto paper. There were houses on either side of the shop, with no indication of which was Jeod’s. If it had just been Eragon, he would just have chosen one and knocked on the door. But Brom being Brom was as paranoid as ever, and wanted as few people to see them as possible.

“Which house do you think is Jeod’s?” Eragon asked Brom.

Brom looked back and forth between the two houses. “Let’s find out.” He walked over the woman with a pleasant smile. “Excuse me, but could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?”

“Yes, I could,” the woman answered, without looking up.

When she made no further response, Eragon glanced at Brom. “Well... _Will_ you tell us?”

“Yes,” she replied again, continuing to write.

When she didn’t answer again, Eragon was about to blurt out something less than flattering. Brom must’ve known his intentions, because he shoved a sharp elbow into his ribs, making the Dragon Rider exhale sharply.

“Of course I’ll tell you!” the woman finally looked up with a wide smile. “Your first question was if I _could_ tell you, and your second was if I _would_ , but you never put the actual question to me.”

Brom smiled at her wit. Eragon just scowled.

“Then let me ask you properly,” Brom said. “Which house does Jeod live in?”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! Yes, Jeod lives on the right there,” she motioned to said house, as the frog in her other hand gave a massive croak.

Eragon gave the amphibian a queer look. Frogs and toads had always been seen as bad omens in Carvahall. They gave you warts, and they ate your crops. They weren’t really good for anything.

“Why do you have a frog?” Eragon asked of her.

“Actually, it’s a toad,” Angela corrected. “And my purpose is to try and prove that toads do not exist.”

Silence reigned between the three, and Eragon tried to discern if she was serious. By the looks of it, she was.

“But you just said it was a toad,” Eragon exclaimed, motioning to it. “You’re holding it in your hand? And what use would be in proving that toads don’t exist?”

“If I prove that toads don’t really exist then it was actually a frog in my hand and never a toad, understand?” Angela asked of him. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “And it would help bad things from happening, because toads wouldn’t be real, and therefore couldn’t make peoples’ teeth fall out, or cause warts, or poison anybody!”

She looked very excited at the prospect. Eragon wasn’t entirely sure that was how it worked.

“I see,” Brom said politely. “That sounds very interesting, and I would love to hear more, but we really need to see Jeod.”

“Naturally,” she said, and went back to her writing. And that was the end of the conversation. Now it wasn’t just the toad Eragon was giving queer looks.

“She’s mad!” Eragon hissed under his breath, when they were a far enough distance away not to be overheard.

“Or brilliant, possibly both,” Brom shrugged. “She might be onto something. Who knows: maybe toads are frogs?”

“And maybe my foot is made of gold.”

The two walked up the steps to Jeod’s house, and Brom was just about to knock on the door, when it opened up and a young lady all but bolted out. She apparently hadn’t seen them there, because she walked straight into them. Neither Brom nor Eragon fell, but the young lady wasn’t as fortunate. Eragon saw in slow-motion as she fell backwards, and he quickly grasped her arm, saving her from what would undoubtedly be a painful fall.

Eragon audibly gasped when he a moment later got a chance to get a proper look at her. Without a doubt, she had to be the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Before now, that place had been held firmly by Katrina; with her long, curly copper hair and sky-blue eyes, she was the target of many envious stares from other women of Carvahall. Eragon would admit having been more than just a little jealous of Roran for successfully wooing her – the jealousy had quickly ebbed away to a feeling of being blessed at having a chance to see how good his cousin was with Sloan’s daughter. But in Eragon’s opinion, and this might be mean to say, Katrina had nothing on the young lady in front of him.

The first thing he had noticed about her was that she was tall. She wasn’t freakishly tall, but tall enough to stand out in a crowd, and tall enough for it to be the first thing Eragon noticed. Compared to him, she was perhaps half an inch shorter. The teenage boy in him, much to Saphira’s amusement, also noticed that she had all the right curves in all the right places, neither being too large nor too small. She had to have been slightly older than him, but no more than eighteen if Eragon was to make a guess.

It didn’t take a trained eye to guess that she was a noble. Her expensive clothing – silk, most likely, though Eragon wasn’t exactly what you would call an expert on the subject – was the first clue: a formfitting yet modest red dress clung to her body, and thin, white gloves accentuated her petite hands. While it couldn’t be anything but expensive, it didn’t flaunt her wealth like some of the other dresses Eragon had seen some of the merchants’ wives of Teirm wear. But her wealth showed more than in just her clothing: her skin had a healthy sheen to it, albeit more sun-kissed than what you would expect of a nobleman’s daughter, and she looked well-nourished. He would be surprised if she had ever gone hungry for even a day.

Her hair was stunning, and unlike any Eragon had seen. It appeared messy yet controlled, falling freely to just past her shoulders. It was raven-black, and as the sun shone upon it, he could see the red highlights in it. He had to fight the urge to comb his hand through it, to see if it indeed was as soft as he imagined it to be.

Eragon froze as she looked up, and her emerald eyes met his brown ones. They were absolutely stunning and unique; he had never seen such a shade of green as an eye colour. And they held such a light, of curiosity and joy, and a depth behind them he couldn’t place. Never had he seen such eyes, or such delicate yet so sturdy features. His eyes ran over her face, from the faded lightning bolt shaped scar on her forehead, down past her petite nose, onto her full lips, and back to her unique and utterly captivating eyes.

The Dragon Rider’s mouth went dry, and he tried to swallow. It didn’t help. In the back of his mind he could feel Saphira being greatly amused by his reactions and thoughts, but for what reason, he did not know. And, at least for the moment, he didn’t care.

“I’m so sorry,” the young lady told them, with a worried frown. Her voice was deeper than he had imagined it to be. It was somewhat gritty, and almost husky, having a warm, breathy quality to it. While it wasn’t what most people would find attractive, Eragon couldn’t help but think that it fit her utterly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Her eyes ran over them, as to discover any potential damage.

“N-no, you d-didn’t,” Eragon stammered nervously. Why was it so warm all of a sudden? “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Thankfully not,” the lady smiled. “Not that it would matter. A few scratches never hurt anyone, did it now?” Eragon noticed that she had an accent he didn’t recognize, which made her words sound sophisticated and light. He had never heard someone speak like that before. It was kind of like singing, slightly tilted.

“I suppose,” Eragon conceded, his cheeks pinking up at her smile. She stood there just looking at him, and he felt like he was in heaven.

She stood there, slightly awkwardly, looking at him. After a few moments, she glanced down and back at him. “May I have my hand back, please?”

“Your hand?” Eragon wasn’t ashamed to admit that his reaction time was a bit delayed at the moment, so it took him a few moments to realize she had formulated a question aimed at him.

“My hand,” she repeated, mirth twinkling in her eyes. “Five digits, a nail at the end of each of them. The one you’re still holding.”

Eragon’s eyes widened as he realized that, yes, he was in fact still holding her hand, never having let it go after he prevented her fall. Blushing bright red, he let go of her gloved hand. Almost unconsciously he flexed his hand, wondering why it was tingling so.

“Excuse me,” Brom butted in. “Is this Jeod’s house?”

“Sure is,” Helena nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.”

Eragon wanted to scream and shout at her to stay. He wanted to talk to her, get to know her. But he could do nothing: it was not because of her they were there. Instead, he stared wistfully at her as she walked down the steps from Jeod’s house.

“Forget about it,” Brom told him gruffly. Eragon blinked a few times and looked up in confusion.

“What?”

“You know what,” Brom told him with a slight smirk. “Engaging that young lady would be unwise. We’re here to figure out about the Seithr Oil shipments, nothing else.”

“I know why we’re here. And why would I go looking for her?” Eragon tried to seem oblivious, but was betrayed as he blushed intensely red.

Brom snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. A blind and deaf beggar would be able to see you fawning over her. I will give, she is quite beautiful. But we will be going as soon as we know about the Oil... Or do you not care to get the Ra’zac anymore?”

“Of course I do!” Eragon snapped. At the look Brom was giving him, he winced. “Sorry.”

Brom merely nodded, and then turned to the door where he knocked. It took about ten seconds before footsteps could be heard from inside. A moment later the door was opened by a pretty middle-aged woman with sharp blue eyes and blond curls.

“Dear, you know you can just-“ the woman started, but stopped when she saw Eragon and Brom. If Eragon had to guess, she had expected that the young lady had forgotten something. “Yes, who are you? What do you want?”

“We’ve been told that this is Jeod’s house,” Brom told her in a friendly tone. Well, as friendly as Brom did, anyway. “Is it?”

“Yes, he is my husband,” the woman answered, a bit stiffly. “Is he expecting you?”

“No, but it’s important we speak to him,” Brom told her. “We’ve travelled far.”

“He is very busy.”

“I understand, but we truly need to speak to him as soon as possible,” Brom implored. “It’s of great importance.”

The woman’s face hardened. “He is busy.”

Brom’s eyes hardened, but otherwise, he didn’t show his displeasure. “Very well, will you at least be willing to give him a message? Tell him that a friend from Gil’ead is waiting to speak to him.”

For a moment Eragon thought she was going to say no again, but she nodded coolly, before closing the door with a bang.

“How polite,” Eragon noted with sarcasm.

“Keep your opinions to yourself,” Brom asked of him sharply. “If what the man in the Green Chestnut said is true, and that Jeod is losing ships, then it is understandable if they’re under just a _little_ bit of stress. I seem to remember a certain farmer snapping a great deal at folks a couple of years ago, when his land had been infested with rodents.”

Eragon suddenly felt bad for thinking nasty thoughts about the woman. The farmer Brom was talking about was, of course, Garrow. It had been a hard winter the following one, when half their crops had been either eaten or shat on by rats.

“Sorry,” Eragon mumbled.

Brom nodded. “Now, let me take the lead here. Don’t say anything before I have signaled that it is safe.”

Only a moment later the door was thrust open. A tall man stood there, garbed in fine and slightly worn clothes, a feature accentuated by his heavy face and greying hair. His eyes had bags under them and looked very sullen. It was clear that he _was_ under a lot of stress. A scar ran across his forehead, and down to his temple.

“Brom,” he breathed out, eyes wide and mouth hanging partially open.

As the two men exchanged pleasantries, Eragon’s attention was drawn away. Instead of following what the two were saying, he looked down the street to find the young lady. She was speaking animatedly with Angela the crazy herbalist. They finished talking, and she nodded politely to the woman, before walking down the street.  Just looking at her made his heart race. He sighed and shook his head, and chose to focus on the task at hand.

Or at least he tried to.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t follow what was being said in conversations, because he could. He got angry with Brom when he deliberately kept secrets from him, he got embarrassed when he told Brom and Jeod that he didn’t know how to read, and he got excited when he visited Saphira outside of the city before the gates closed. But here was the thing: everywhere he went, those sparkling emerald eyes would haunt the back of his mind. They had haunted him at the Citadel, at Jeod’s home, and around the city. He was confident that he hid it well from the others. Well, anyone but Saphira: these days their thoughts and feelings flowed freely between them, and it was next to impossible to keep anything from her. And he didn’t want to. Thankfully, Saphira being Saphira, didn’t bring up his new obsession, though he could sense that it greatly amused her.

It was strange, feeling like he did. Never, not even once, had he felt anything remotely like it. Being a teenage boy, he had of course been attracted to some of the young women of Carvahall. But this... Each time he thought of the young lady, his heart would gallop away and his mouth would go dry. And when he thought of what Brom had told him, about not searching for the girl... Just thinking of never seeing her again, he felt like he had been punched clean through his chest.

Had they met back in Carvahall, before all of _this_ had started, he would have asked Roran for advice. Roran, with all he had been through with Katrina, would know what to say to him. Garrow, as much as Eragon had loved him, wasn’t much of a romantic: he would much rather focus on work. Eragon didn’t blame Garrow for that, as Marian’s death had hit him hard. Her death had hit them _all_ hard, but whereas Roran and Eragon recovered, Garrow had never really been the same after the fact.

But all that didn’t matter now. He could ask neither Garrow nor Roran. The former was dead, and the latter was probably still back in Carvahall, trying to salvage what was left of his life. Eragon felt guilt bubble up inside him at that thought, but he knew it would’ve been worse if he had stayed. Hopefully one day the two of them could be reunited, and Eragon could beg for forgiveness.

That first night in Teirm, he had laid with his arms behind his head looking up at the ceiling with a stupid grin on his face for hours. He could all but see her in front of him. Never had he been so happy to bump into someone – well, apart from bumping into Saphira’s egg. And he didn’t even know her name.

That’s when it hit him: she had been here, in Jeod’s house. Surely the merchant had to know a thing or two about her. Eragon winced: he had to be careful of how he approached the subject, as it would do little good if Brom thought him hung up on her – which, if he was fair, he was. The old swordsman would admonish Eragon as if there was no tomorrow, and would probably give him a thorough pummeling disguised as a dueling lesson.

The next morning when Eragon awoke, it was almost noon. It didn’t surprise the Dragon Rider, as he hadn’t been able to sleep in a soft bed for weeks. Of course, a small part of the blame could be put with Eragon staying up till late just thinking of the girl, but he wouldn’t tell anyone that.

Neither Jeod nor Brom were present when he came down from the room he had been given while they were staying in Teirm. The servant informed him that ‘Neal and the Master’ had taken off towards the citadel, and hadn’t expected to be back before supper. While Eragon had been disappointed that Brom hadn’t thought of bringing him, he had forgiven it when the servant told him that Brom had allowed Eragon to explore Teirm for the day.

After a quick breakfast, Eragon took off out of the door and eagerly began to explore Teirm. Brom was gruff most of the time, but he also had a soft side: not only had he allowed Eragon this day off, but he had even left behind a fair few crowns in ‘allowance’ for Eragon to spend. Back at the farm in Carvahall, it would’ve taken Eragon at least a year to save this many crowns. He doubted that he was going to spend them all, but it was still a nice gesture from Brom.

For the next couple of hours, Eragon went around to the different markets. He went into every store and stall he felt like, bought treats he had never imagined could exist, and talked with different people from all over the Empire, and even a few from Surda. Each of them had a story to tell and a life to live. Eragon found it all utterly intriguing.

The native people of Teirm was also something to behold. They were very different from the people of Carvahall: the citizens of the small village in the northern empire were not exactly open to strangers, treating them with suspicion at best and outright hostility at worst. But Teirm was a center of trade, one of the largest on the continent, and having strangers make their way through the city on their journeys were no more strange to them than the morning mist rolling in from sea each day. In Teirm people were polite, inquired to one’s life, and were curious about where one was going. It was a refreshing change, though a part of Eragon did miss the quiet and familiarity Carvahall and known faces brought.

Eragon had just bought a roasted sea-animal – a _squid_ he thought it was called, whatever that was – on a stick. It tasted funny, but not in a bad way. Seeing a stall with beautiful stones, Eragon walked towards it as he munched on the squid.

“Well, hello to you,” a woman’s voice spoke, stopping him before he could reach the stall.

He turned with a mouthful of squid to see a scantily clad woman in her early twenties. A large amount of cleavage was visible, and her dress was extremely tight fitting. It was nothing like the dress the young lady from the day before had worn, as this dress had no modesty whatsoever. It wasn’t that he, as a soon-to-be young man, didn’t enjoy the female form, but this was twisted into a way that was just... disturbing.

The woman herself was pretty, he guessed. She had long blonde hair, which was put up in a messy bun, aristocratic features, and brown eyes. And she was smiling rather suggestively at him.

“You look like someone who could use some _fun_ ,” she breathed. Walking over to him, her hips swaying with each step, Eragon got more and more uncomfortable. Eragon swallowed the only half-chewed piece of squid, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling when it went down his throat.

“Erm... I-I... T-that is...” he managed to mutter. That made the woman smile even more, as her head dipped in a mysterious manner. She was about to say something again, when someone cut her off.

“Sod off, Martha, you daft bimbo!”

Eragon’s eyes widened and his heartbeat accelerated as he recognized the voice. Turning around, he saw the young lady from yesterday. She was currently glaring at the woman, Martha, and had her hands on her hips.

“Why you-.“Martha began to hiss, her face red in embarrassment. Several people at the stands looked their way, but the young lady seemed none too bothered by it. The same could not be said for Martha.

“Can’t you see he is just a boy!?” his savior exclaimed. He bristled a bit at the comment, but he kept his mouth shut. “You should be ashamed! Come on.”

Eragon yelped as the young lady grabbed his arm and towed him further down the street. Eragon’s eyebrow rose drastically when he felt just how strong she was. She clearly wasn’t just _any_ nobleman’s daughter.

When they had walked for about a half minute in silence, Eragon couldn’t help himself.

“You know, I’m not ‘just a boy’,” he told her slightly annoyed. “I’m almost sixteen.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Well, did you _want_ to be entertained by that tart?”

Eragon blushed. “No...”

“Then just say ‘thank you’,” the girl said decisively. Eragon smiled slightly at her. She was unlike any girl he had met before. The women of Carvahall had always prided themselves on their reputation, always trying to present an image of kindness and demureness. This young lady was kind as well, sure, but she was anything but demure: there was a directness and an almost callous disregard for what others thought of her. It baffled Eragon, as he hadn’t met anyone like that before.

“Thank you,” he told her. When she nodded almost dismissively, he stopped her by grabbing her arm lightly. “No, really, _thank you_. I’m not really used to...” he blushed again. He cursed himself mentally. Carvahall, being the small village that it was, didn’t really have women of that kind of profession.

The girl smiled, making his mouth once again go dry. “You’re very welcome.” She then took a look at him. “Hey, you’re that kid from yesterday at Jeod’s house.”

Eragon bristled. “I’m not just a kid – I’m almost-.“

“-Almost sixteen, I got it,” she finished for him, waving his comment away. Had it been anyone else Eragon would’ve most likely become extremely annoyed by it, but he was too baffled that she had in fact done it. “Ignoring the ‘kid’ comment, you are from yesterday, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am,” Eragon nodded. Remembering his manners, he offered the girl his hand. “I’m Er- I’m Evan.” He sighed in relief at not offering his real name. Brom would skin him if he discovered it.

The young lady smiled and accepted his hand, shaking it firmly. Again, Eragon was surprised by the strength behind the simple action. “Wotcher, Evan. it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance; I’m Helena.”

Her name was Helena. Mentally he was jumping for joy at finally having a name to put to the face. It was funny, when he had heard Helen’s name the day before, he had almost felt sorry for her. Yet, Helena’s name he thought was absolutely beautiful. It was odd what such a small difference could do.

‘ _Talk to her,_ ’ Saphira said to him in his mind. Eragon blinked, realizing that he had stood smiling like a goof at her for a few moments. What an idiot he was. ‘ _But you’re my idiot.’_

“W-well,” Eragon stammered, rubbing the back of his head with his right hand, “since you saved me from a humiliating experience back there, how about I escort you around this fine afternoon.”

‘ _Smooth._ ’

 _‘Shush, you._ ’

Helena raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, I can’t say I _need_ an escort, but... sure.” She offered him her arm, and Eragon accepted it immediately. The Dragon Rider beamed at the young lady. “So, what are you doing in Teirm? And who was that old man that you came with?”

“Ah, that’s my uncle, Neal,” Eragon lied smoothly. “We’re here to visit Jeod for a bit, that’s all. They’re old friends, you see.”

“That’s nice,” Helena smiled.

“What about you? Have you lived in Teirm for long?” Eragon asked her, eager to get to know about her.

“Merlin, no! I’ve only just arrived recently,” she laughed. She seemed to wince slightly, but her features were schooled so quickly, Eragon wasn’t sure he had really seen anything. He quirked his eyebrow at the name, but dismissed it as the name of one of the gods she might worship.

“Really?” Eragon asked surprised, “Where’d you live before?”

“In Ceunon,” she answered, getting a somber look on her face. “But my parents died. I didn’t really want to stick around after that, so I hitched a ride with some merchants from here. I’m living up in one of the inns here, for now.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Eragon smiled sadly. “I recently lost my uncle. He raised me since I was a babe.” At her curious look, he quickly continued, “He was another Uncle, of course, on my mother’s side. Neal is my father’s brother.” Once again he blushed, but thankfully she didn’t comment on it.

“And what about your parents?” Helena asked.

Eragon shrugged. “Never knew either of them.” A part of him would always be curious, and he wouldn’t say it was ‘fine’, but it was what it was. Occasionally he wondered about them as well, wondered about his mother, but he held no feelings for them whether it be love, longing, or animosity. “As far as I’m concerned, my uncle and aunt were my parents. When they died, I needed to get away, and when Uncle Neal mentioned he planned to come here, I managed to convince him to take me with him.”

Now it was Helena’s turn to smile sadly, and she squeezed his arm sympathetically. It tingled just as his hand had the day before.

“Well, enough of that kind of talk,” Helena shook her head, the liveliness returning to her voice. “Since you’ve only just arrived here in Teirm, how about I show you around some? Given, I don’t exactly know every nook and cranny, but I’ve been here long enough to have a gander. I know some nice stores and eating establishments, but nothing too posh.”

Eragon blinked at the unfamiliar words, but wasn’t about to risk her retracting her offer at calling her out on it. Instead, he beamed at her again. “I would love to.”

The rest of Eragon’s afternoon was spent accompanying Helena around the city, hanging on to her every word as she showed him around. A few times they entered shops and stopped by stalls Eragon already had been to earlier on in the day, but Eragon said nothing. There were a few times that she had tried to pay for his things, but Eragon had stood fast and said no, instead paying himself. The way she had rolled her eyes as if money was nothing had ignited a small flare of envy inside of him. However, when they came across a few homeless children, and Helena slipped them a handful of crowns, it quickly went away as he began to realize just how amazing a person she was. As far as Eragon knew, no one had seen her do it, not even the children. He was even rather confident that Helena didn’t realize that he had seen her do it. That only made her better in his opinion: she wasn’t giving away things to raise her own status in Teirm, but did it out of the goodness and kindness of her heart.

When supper-time finally came around, the two bid each other goodbye. Eragon had stood on the street and looked after her as she walked away, a simple and genuinely joyous smile adorning his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had such a good time. There was something special about Helena, he could tell already.

~ BWaC ~

Eragon sat quietly in the manor as he waited for Brom and Jeod to return. A light frown marred his features; walking up the streets Jeod’s house lay on, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had entered the crazy herbalist’s shop. He had been shocked by some magic rod, mocked by a werecat, and then he got caught up in the whirlwind that was Angela. At the discovery that Solembum, the werecat, had spoken to him – “He certainly has been chattier as of late!” –, she had offered to read his future.

Not being overly interested as his present held more than enough mystery for him at the moment, hearing that the only other person to have agreed to the foretelling had borne the same name of his mother, he had agreed to the offer.

Instead of using the crystal ball on the counter like he had expected – although, where he had gotten that expectation from he had no recollection –, she, much to his shock and horror, pulled out a set of dragon knucklebones. Saphira had stirred in his mind, but, to his surprise, hadn’t been overly bothered by it, merely curious.

The first prediction had been pleasant enough. It was told by the knucklebone with a long horizontal line upon which a circle rested. Immortality or extraordinary long life. He already knew that, being a Dragon Rider and all, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

The next prediction lifted a burden off of his chest, he hadn’t noticed had been there. The freedom to choose his own fate was told by the knucklebone depicting the wandering path. Sadly, no matter what he decided, his life would be filled with blood, battles, and misery. One path, however, Angela had noted, would bring him happiness and peace. Of course, she wasn’t able to tell him which path that was.

The lightning bolt told of the third prediction, and it scared him to no end: the death of a loved one. ‘ _There is doom upon you, but of what sort I know not. Part of it lies in death – one that rapidly approaches and will cause you much grief,_ ’ Angela had said with sorrow on her face. Eragon’s thoughts had immediately gone to Saphira, but instincts told him that it wasn’t her. ‘Loved one’ was not nearly enough to describe his and Saphira’s relationship, and ‘Grief’ didn’t even manage to approach the magnitude of sorrow and hurt he would feel if she died.

The fourth prediction didn’t lift his mood, as it predicted him leaving Alagaësia forever. ‘ _This is inescapable,_ ’ she had said. Eragon didn’t care, he couldn’t leave. This was his home. But, a small part of him said, he was immortal, and the dragon knucklebone didn’t tell _when_ he would be leaving. It could be in hundreds of years for all Eragon knew. That consoled him somewhat.

When the knucklebones with the rose and everlasting flower had crossed the moon, they had predicted something much more pleasant. ‘ _An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates - for that is the magical symbol - strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful and wise as the everlasting flower tells, and beautiful beyond compare._ ’ As pleasant as it was, it had also surprised him. He could see no way of him getting together with a person of noble standing, as his standing was comparable with that of the most impoverished farmers – not even comparable, in fact, as he had no farm and no tools.

The sixth prediction warned of betrayal from within the family. The only family Eragon had left was Roran, but Eragon couldn’t see Roran ever betraying him. If anything, it was Eragon who had betrayed Roran by keeping Saphira a secret, and calling the Ra’zac down on their family. Anything Roran did wouldn’t be betrayal, but justice, Eragon decided.

The last two bones, depicting the tree and the holly bush, which crossed each other in the middle, brought another pleasant prediction. ‘ _You are not as alone as you think. Help, assistance, and comradery will arrive in the most unexpected of forms._ ’ That was some good news, Eragon had thought in relief. Any help they could get was welcomed.

Eragon didn’t know if it had been smart to get that prediction, but he couldn’t change the past. It was enough for anyone to do a good think-through, but Eragon had somehow pissed some divine being off, and it wasn’t the end of the story.

Moving to exit the herbalist shop, the werecat had blocked his path.

_‘Listen closely and I will tell you two things. When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa Tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to the open the Vault of Souls.’_

Two prophecies in the span of time it took to have a bowel movement. Angela’s prophecy at least had had commentary to it, making some sense of it all. Solembum, however, left it at that. If Eragon wasn’t mistaken, the werecat even took pleasure in the confusion he had caused Eragon.

A part of the young Rider wanted to talk it over with Brom. However, that meant also revealing that he told Angela who he was – “ _Is Eragon who you are, or is it your name?_ ”, “ _Both”_ –, and that he had mentioned Brom to Angela. Eragon didn’t know why he did it, but Brom wouldn’t be pleased.

Eragon sighed heavily, putting his head in his hand. Saphira brushed up against his mind, but said nothing. She knew that there was nothing _to_ say right now, and Eragon didn’t need her to. Her presence was enough for now.

It wasn’t long after that Brom and Jeod returned, and just in time for Eragon to have gathered himself. Helen was out with friends, so when they sat down for dinner, it was just the three of them. If Eragon was honest with himself, he was kind of glad about it. While he wasn’t judging her as harshly as he had when she greeted them at the door, having gained insight into just how badly Jeod’s business was going, he still thought her frosty and rude. Jeod did explain to him how she was used to living a more pleasant and refined lifestyle, but that was no excuse. Helena, clearly, was also of wealth, but was also _kind_.

Helen’s behavior wasn’t the only reason Eragon was glad about her absence: her not being there, meant that Eragon didn’t have to wait until later to ask how it had gone at the citadel. So he did.

“It went absolutely horrible!” Brom growled angrily.

Eragon frowned. “Didn’t you get to talk to Brand?”

“We did. Not that it helped,” Brom sighed agitatedly.

“How so?” Eragon asked, almost carefully. “He wouldn’t let you see the records?”

Jeod shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t. We even tried bribing him – with a considerable sum of crowns –, but he was steadfast in denying us access.”

“This Administrator of Trade is the _worst_ sort of bureaucrat! Not only does he abide by the rules, but he enjoys it as well! He even makes up his own rules to boot, thinking it is for the good of the trade!” Brom ranted. “Never would I have thought that I would meet a nobleman who wasn’t corrupt! Well, I have now, and I must say, that I much prefer the corrupt kind. They may be some sons of bitches, but they are at least sons of bitches who you can manipulate.”

“But... what do we do now, then?” Eragon asked.

Brom breathed deeply and took a sip of his glass. Eragon knew from the smell that it was some sort of alcohol, but not which kind. It wasn’t that he blamed the old man for indulging a little, especially not when it calmed him down.

“I will spend the next week teaching you how to read,” Brom said decisively after a moment of silence. “And after that, we’re going to give our friend Brand a nasty surprise.”

Eragon grinned at that.

“What about you?” Jeod asked Eragon. “What have you spent your day on?”

The memories of the day came rushing back, Helena’s face making it to the forefront of his mind. When he remembered how they had walked arm in arm through most of Teirm, he blushed. Not even his odd visit with the herbalist, the prediction she had made with dragon bones, and Solembum’s warning could ruin his mood.

He tried to fight the blush down and cleared his throat.

“Oh, I just walked around to see the town,” Eragon told the two men nonchalantly, suddenly finding his plate of food very fascinating. “It’s nothing like any city I have seen before.”

“Teirm is beautiful,” Jeod agreed, clear pride for the city of his residence noticeable in his voice. “At least when it isn’t raining. When it rains here, it truly rains: you can’t see more than a few feet in front of you. What is worse, it takes days for the dirt streets to dry up, so there is mud all over the place.”

“And was that all you did?” Brom asked, hinting heavily towards something. Eragon gulped.

“Yes.”

“Oh, so you weren’t walking around with a pretty young lady on your arm?” Brom asked calmly. Eragon looked away. Brom sighed. “Why did you seek her out? Didn’t I say that she would only be a distraction?”

“Actually, you just said that we were here for the Oil records,” Eragon quipped. “You didn’t say anything about her being a distraction.”

“That was heavily implied!” Brom snapped. “You knew I asked for you to stay away from her.”

“It wasn’t like I went searching for her,” Eragon defended himself, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I did really go exploring the town, and then a prostitute approached me. She got the whore off of my back, and we just walked together after that.”

“I suppose that that’s better,” Brom conceded after a moment, however grudgingly.

“And how do you even know I spent my afternoon with her?” Eragon asked gruffly. The thought of Brom following him around like some over-protective father protecting his son’s virtue was mortifying.

“I saw you when Jeod and I were walking back from the citadel.”

“Who are you two talking about?” Jeod asked curiously after having looked back and forward between them in their small spat.

“The young lady who we met just before we knocked on your door,” Brom explained. “She ran into us – literally.”

“Her name is Helena,” Eragon supplied, perhaps saying it a bit more airily than was necessary. Brom shot him a look.

“Helena?” Jeod said in surprise. “Well, Brom, you have nothing to worry about. Helena is a nice young lady.”

“It isn’t her I’m worried about,” Brom said, looking meaningfully at Eragon. Eragon sent a light glare back at him.

“What is it that you’re so worried about?” Eragon asked, grumpily crossing his arms over his chest. “I know we’re only here until we have the information we need. What is so wrong with spending an afternoon with Helena, when you yourself had said I could do what I want? She’s nice and pleasant, and just showed me around.”

“I saw the way you looked at her yesterday,” Brom told Eragon. “It was the way Roran looked at Katrina before they started courting. And, no, I’m not saying that that will happen here, but I was a teenage boy once, too, you know. You’re going to fawn over her for a while.”

Eragon realized what Brom was saying, and began feeling bad at having been so snippy and short with him. The old storyteller had just tried to ease Eragon of pain. Eragon winced when he realized that it was a little too late for that.

Turning to Jeod, Eragon asked, “What do you know about Helena?”

“Not much, to be honest,” Jeod admitted. “She’s been in town for about two months, arriving at the start of October. She’s been visiting a few times a week ever since then. She uses my library, you see, to read and do research.” Jeod smiled, “It is so nice to see someone who shares my appreciation for the written word. And Helen has enjoyed her company as well – Helena must be the least judgmental person I have ever met. That, or she at least hides it well; either way, it has been a nice change ever since all the rumors started flying around.”

“Research?” Eragon asked curiously. “What is she doing research about?”

“About the land,” Jeod shrugged. He looked at Brom and Eragon. “I know I can trust you, so please keep this quiet. She told me in confidentiality that she isn’t from around these parts, like not at all, and that she has no way home. She’s been reading up on everything to be able to survive, she says.”

“She told me that she is from Ceunon,” Eragon admitted, feeling a bit hurt.

Jeod nodded, “That is the word around town for the last few weeks or so. She’s been the talk of the town since she appeared, but people haven’t asked too many questions. She has money to spend, and apart from a few squabbles with the ladies of the night, she hasn’t caused trouble.”

“Do you mean to say that she isn’t from Alagaësia?” Brom asked skeptically. “There haven’t been visitors from across the sea for centuries, and certainly not after Galbatorix came into power.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jeod told them. “She didn’t tell me much. Just that she wasn’t at all from around here, and that she didn’t have a way home. But I _can_ tell you that she is charming and polite, if not a little odd at times.”

Brom grunted. “Those are the ones you need to watch out the most for.” Eragon rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean about odd?” Eragon asked.

“She speaks funny at times. And I’m not talking about her accent, but the words she uses,” Jeod told them. Eragon absentmindedly nodded. It was hard not to notice, when some sentences were so full of them, that Eragon hadn’t been sure what she was talking about. The context was understood most of the time, however: He remembered how Helena had chased Martha away, and while Eragon had no idea what ‘sod off’ or ‘daft bimbo’ meant, it was clear that she hadn’t been complimenting the whore. “And she doesn’t use a pen to write with. She uses a quill and ink. Quite peculiar.”

“Is that not common?” Eragon asked. It was no surprise that he had little to no knowledge of that subject, for the same reasons why he couldn’t read.

“No,” Brom answered with a shake of his head. “The kind of ink used to write with quills is rather expensive. It has gone mostly out of use, especially after the pen and pencil were created.”

Alright, so she might be a bit odd. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in Eragon’s mind. _He_ had been the odd one in Carvahall, the only one who dared set foot in the Spine. So Eragon wouldn’t judge Helena on that.

After dinner, Eragon walked briskly towards the gate. He wanted to visit Saphira briefly. He, of course, knew that the visit couldn’t be long, or he would be shut outside. It was, of course, an option to sleep outside of the city with Saphira, her body being more than sufficient to keep him warm even without camping supplies, but while he wouldn’t mind it, it would raise too many questions. Questions always had a way to annoy Brom, and when Brom was annoyed Eragon usually suffered in one way or the other.

Saphira snorted at that, but didn’t disagree.

While Teirm was wonderful (at least so far), a big problem was being separated from Saphira. It helped that by now they could still keep up contact, but for when Saphira flew far up the Spine to hunt. Those gentle brushes throughout the day, that reminded him that she was there, comforted both of them.

Eragon was quite proud that he only took three wrong turns on the way to the gate, and none of them took him too far off of his course. Not too many people were around the gate at this hour; It wasn’t exactly that it was late, but with it being in the middle of December and all, the sun would set a lot earlier than in the summer, and thus the gates would close a lot sooner. Only two of the about dozen stalls were open, one of which had a customer, and then there were the two gate guards.

The Dragon Rider was about to walk out of the city when he saw something. It was Helena. Unlike in the afternoon, however, she had a coat about her, hiding most of her features. Really, Eragon wouldn’t have recognized her at all if he hadn’t seen her eyes: he would spot those sparkling emeralds anywhere. Eragon frowned as he saw her coming from the outside. It was odd... Neither of the gate guards paid her any heed. At all. What was stranger, was that when he was looking at her, he got a kind of summing in his head. Like a pesky fly on a summer’s day. He shook his head twice, and it cleared up. And just in time to see something that stunned him.

As Helena approached the gate guards – none of them looking at her, even as she was mere feet in front of them –, she raised her left hand towards them. And there, in the palm of her hand, glowed a very familiar shape. It was the same shape that was on Eragon’s own right palm. Well, he would give that there was a small chance that he might be wrong, with her hand being gloved and all. It was just, the glove didn't diminish the light as she had, clearly, used magic. Come to think of it, that also explained why no one was looking at her but Eragon. Perhaps she had cast some sort of spell?

‘ _Saphira... was that...?_ ’ he breathed unsure in his mind. A turmoil of emotions swirled inside of him, which was mirrored by Saphira. He could feel the hope blossom inside the blue dragon’s chest: was she _not_ the last of her race apart from Shruikan? Immediately their thoughts returned to Angela’s prophecy: _Help will arrive in the most unexpected of forms._

‘ _It was_ ,’ Saphira agreed. ‘ _It was the same as when you use magic._ ’

Not wanting Helena to see him right then and there, Eragon dipped into an alleyway. Fifteen seconds later he saw her walk past the alleyway briskly, at which point Eragon slowly emerged.

Well and truly stunned, he looked after Helena as she walked up the street, still with no one else noticing her. Just _who_ was she?

‘ _Saphira, I know you want me to visit you, and I want to visit you, but-._ ‘ Eragon said over their link.

‘ _Go. Talk to Brom, fast,_ ’ Saphira agreed. He could feel just how excited she was. And he was excited as well.

Perhaps he wasn’t the last Dragon Rider apart from Galbatorix. Was Helena a Dragon Rider?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the most part I, again, just corrected some grammar mistakes and reworded some things. However, unlike in chapter one and two, there is an extra scene here, however short – the one where Eragon ponders about Angela’s prophecy. I kind of skipped over that one in the original, which I now think is a bit stupid, when keeping in mind the impact it has on Eragon. The prophecy itself also has small changes, like the everlasting flower (which scientific name is Helichrysum (which Helena’s real first name, Helichrysa is derived from)), and the end prediction of help arriving (which I was inspired to involve from Najex’s story).  
> I know Eragon seems very smitten with Helena at this point, but that is only rational in my opinion. It was how I envision Eragon around Arya at the start. And in this story, Helena has taken Arya’s place in Eragon’s mind, of being the first woman he has genuinely been attracted to. While they will end up together, as he spends time with Helena, he will sober some up and see her as a whole person (and Dragon Rider), and not just as a perfect lady.  
> I also want to clear up, that Saphira is older than Godric. I have made a timeline, and Saphira is thirteen days older. That means that Eragon will still be the lead Rider. There are some crossovers where the non-Inheritance Cycle character who becomes a Dragon Rider takes over all the remarkable thing Eragon does in canon. That will not be this story. Yes, maybe a thing or two Helena will do instead, but they will be their own persons. Clearly, Helena will have a grasp on magic that Eragon could never hope to have, but then again, Eragon will always be the better swordsman of the two.  
> While most chapters will be written from Helena’s point of view, there will be chapters, like this one, which is written from Eragon’s point of view. I have no system, so it isn’t like we’ll have five chapters from Helena’s point of view for every one chapter from Eragon’s point of view; the standard is Helena point of view, and when it calls for it, Eragon’s point of view. Furthermore, it is on purpose that Eragon’s chapters are written with American spelling instead of British, as he is, obviously, not British.  
> Synthesis.


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Depulso! Incarcerous! Levicorpus! Silencio!” Helena cried, the silver marking on her left palm lit up, and the spells took effect. First Neal was pushed violently through the room, hitting the wall with so much force that the tree groaned. Before he had hit the ground, thick ropes bound him from his feet to his shoulders, and the Levicorpus hoisted him into the air by his ankles. Finally the Silencing Spells prevented him from casting any verbal counter-spells. There was still the risk of him knowing non-verbal spells, but seeing as he hadn’t thought of the possibility that she could cast non-verbal spells, Helena deemed the risk to be small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

‘ _What is the matter?_ ’ Godric asked of her as he landed some metres in front of her.

He had been flying around and enjoying himself as Helena had practised her magic. It was still tricky, and she still wouldn’t even dare to do any Transfiguration quite yet, but she was making good progress. It wasn’t the same as when she had used her wand, and Helena was fairly confident it wasn’t just because the mark on her hand was now her equivalent of a wand core. If she had to take a guess, then her magic itself had changed... shifted slightly, if that was even possible.

While practising, she had discovered in a fit of frustration and subsequent experimentation that the intent behind spells had become much more critical. It wasn’t that hand movements and incantations, whether they be verbal or non-verbal, didn’t help anymore – they just weren’t necessary. It was like magic in its purest and most unrestrained form. It could be _very_ dangerous. But if Helena did it right, it opened up so many opportunities. To even imagine not being bound by incantations and movements... it could save her in a battle. Nothing like that came without risks, however, and if she did something wrong, she could very well kill herself. It was frightening, and yet, at the same time exhilarating. In any case, she wouldn’t be experimenting more with it before she had gotten a handle on her magic _with_ incantations and movements. After that... She was going to have so much fun.

‘ _Why would you think anything is wrong?_ ’ Helena retorted, shifting her focus from the boulder she had been shooting the Severing Charm at. Her aim was only to make a cut which was about two or three centimetres deep. So far, the closest she had achieved was about six centimetres. She was getting there, but it seemed the closer she got to her goal, the harder it became. And while it was frustrating, Helena quite liked the challenge.

‘ _It isn’t like you can hide anything from me,_ ’Godric reminded her amusedly. ‘ _Nor I from you, for that matter_.’ The ruby dragon walked over to her and looked straight into her eyes. If she hadn’t known him, it would’ve been very intimidating. The thing was, she did know him, and even as he grew stronger and more powerful, she at times still saw him as that small hatchling in the room at the Singing Seagull. That was in spite the fact that he was about a month and a half old by now, and he was bigger than her. No matter how large he got, though, Helena knew that he would never intentionally do anything to hurt her.

The witch sighed. ‘ _I’ve got this feeling... The last couple of days, it’s like somebody has been watching me when I’m in Teirm._ ’

‘ _Here?_ ’ the dragon asked surprised.

‘ _No, back in Teirm.’_

Godric blinked. ‘ _You sound a little paranoid._ ’

‘ _I know,’_ Helena blew a fringe out of her left eye. ‘ _And I would agree with you normally, it’s just... You don’t go through a war like I did, and not develop some instincts. Half of the time I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was walking into, and I had to rely on my gut. Nine out of ten times, if not more, my instincts were right, and are what saved me._ ’

‘ _Instincts are important_ ,’ Godric agreed. ‘ _But we must balance it with our conscious mind, sorting irrational feelings from the rational ones._ ’

‘ _How’d you get so wise?_ ’ Helena grinned adoringly at him.

‘ _I am a dragon,_ ’ Godric stated as if it was obvious that _that_ was the reason. ‘ _But you’re just as wise. You have been through more than anyone your age should’ve been. And that is true, whether you compare yourself to the children of your world, or the children of Alagaësia_.’

‘ _Thank you,_ ’ Helena smiled softly. ‘ _I honestly don’t know what I would do without you._ ’

‘ _Most likely jump every time someone looked your way,_ ’ Godric teased. Helena just rolled her eyes at the comment. ‘ _But if we say for the conversation’s sake that you aren’t being paranoid... Why would anyone watch you?_ ’

‘ _They could’ve discovered you,_ ’ Helena pointed out.

‘ _How?_ ’ Godric deadpanned. ‘ _Ever since you took me here, I haven’t been within a few miles_ _of the city. I hunt either way up north or way down south from here, and always up in the mountains. And no-one has been out here – I would know_.’

‘ _I guess..._ ’ Helena conceded, though she was still unsure. ‘ _Whether I’m wrong or right, maybe it’s time we stopped fannying around, and moved on?_ ’

‘ _Really?_ ’ Godric asked surprised. ‘ _I thought you liked the city_.’

‘ _I love you more_ ,’ Helena answered without missing a beat. Godric’s eyes softened. ‘ _And while the city is more than alright, I could never live there. I have to hide my magic and who I am. It’s like I’m betraying my parents and all of my kind_.’

‘ _Do you have any ideas of where we would go_?’ Godric asked, as he lay down. He began cleaning one of his claws. Helena sat down across from him and began playing with a few blades of grass.

‘ _Not really_ ,’ Helena admitted, sighing as she did. ‘ _We would never be able to live within the Empire – Galbatorix would hunt us down, either to kill us or to force us to join him._ ’

‘ _I will never join the Oath-Breaker,_ ’ Godric stated vehemently.

‘ _Neither would I_ ,’ Helena assured the dragon, though it was unnecessary. Godric knew where she stood on the subject. She would rather die than join up with the likes of Galbatorix or Tom Riddle. He hadn’t said it out loud, but the thought of her dying had scared him. Helena didn’t blame him, as she felt the same way when thinking of his possible death. ‘ _That leaves us with few options. We could either seek refuge in Surda, we could seek refuge with the Varden or the elves, or we could leave this continent._ ’

‘ _Why’d you leave out the dwarves?_ ’

‘ _We have no idea where they are_ ,’ Helena pointed out. Godric grunted in response.

 _‘Nor do we know where the Varden is,’_ the ruby dragon argued.

Helena motioned her head back and forward, ‘ _True. But we know that they are a human organisation and that they oppose the King. That means that it would be highly likely that Surda supports them – they only exist because the King hasn’t bothered with them yet.’_

Godric considered that.

‘ _So Surda, the Varden, the elves, or leaving. From the way our options stand, only one has the potential for us to live in peace in the short run_ ,’ he told her. He wasn’t too thrilled about that: he was a dragon, not a dog.

‘ _Leaving the continent_ ,’ Helena nodded.

’ _I don’t like it._ ’

‘ _Neither do I. This isn’t where I am from, but the people who are suffering under Galbatorix are still very real_.’ Helena sighed heavily, and leaned back until she lay down on the ground. She looked up at the midday sky, thankful for the pleasant weather. ‘ _In addition to that, I really hate that bastard for what he did to your kind. I feel ashamed and disgusted thinking that my kind did the same to the dragons of Earth millennia ago._ ’

 _‘You have nothing to feel ashamed about_ ,’ Godric said forcefully. Helena looked down onto him. He had stopped cleaning his claw to look up at her. ‘ _You cannot blame yourself for that, more than you can blame me for the actions of the dragons of the Forsworn. Or do you blame me for that?_ ’

‘ _Of course I don’t blame you!_ ’ Helena exclaimed in her mind. Godric looked pointedly at her. ‘ _Alright, I get your point. But that still leaves us in the same place: we can’t just walk away from fighting Galbatorix._ ’

‘ _I agree._ ’

Helena breathed deeply. While it had been in their thoughts more than just once, this was the first time they had stated it to each other. They would have to fight Galbatorix. Helena might be a Gryffindor, but the prospect of fighting someone who had killed an entire order of Dragon Riders... it scared her. The words of the Sorting Hat from years before rung in her head, however: _courage isn’t the absence of fear, but realising that something is worth doing despite being scared._ Those were wise words she had tried to live by, and she wasn’t about to stop now.

‘ _It’s not going to be easy,_ ’ Helena warned. It was aimed towards Godric, but also at herself. Many impossible things she had done since entering the Wizarding World with Hagrid, but never had she done them alone. Through it all Hermione and Ron had been at her side, and in the later years, also the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army. She didn’t have them this time, but she did have Godric.

‘ _I know,_ ’ Godric’s mental voice was solemn and serious.

‘ _If we’re going to fight the Black King, then the obvious choice would be to join the Varden,_ ’ Helena continued their conversation. ‘ _But by joining them, we would also enter their world of politics. I have had enough of that from my own world. I want to fight Galbatorix, but I don’t want to become a piece for some power-hungry person to gain an important position within the Varden._ ’

‘ _I don’t think that it can be avoided entirely,_ ’ Godric admitted with a huff. Helena shuddered pleasantly as his warm breath washed over her. ‘ _No matter where we go, to humans, to elves, or to dwarves, we’re going to become important figures.’_

Helena groaned. ‘ _Don’t tell me that._ ’

‘ _It’s true, and you know it._ ’

‘ _Yeah, but I would like to keep the illusion up for a little while longer,_ ’ Helena pouted. Deep chuffing noises erupted from the dragon’s chest, which Helena recognised as laughter. ‘ _Laugh it up, but after a few months in the spotlight, you’re going to feel the same._ ’ As soon as she had said it, she began to doubt it. Godric loved attention. ‘ _Merlin, you know what; just forget it_.’

‘ _I know why you feel as you do_ , _even if I don’t feel the same way,_ ’ Godric soothed her. She could feel his mind caressing hers, and she smiled. ‘ _When this whole situation with Galbatorix is over, I’ll follow you anywhere. If you want to fly to the North Pole and live there in isolation, then I’ll gladly do that._ ’

‘ _That’s perhaps taking it too far,_ ’ Helena grimaced. ‘ _Maybe just live up in the mountains somewhere. Where there is fresh air, and enough space for you to fly in.’_

‘ _That does sound pleasant,_ ’ Godric admitted.

They were silent for a while, enjoying the fantasy that played out in their minds. Soon enough Helena closed her eyes and began to hum to the melody of Double Trouble to herself. It made her feel a pang of longing. One thing that this world was missing was music. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider didn’t doubt that Alagaësia had its music, but it couldn’t be as widespread or diverse as the music on Earth, nor as easily accessible. Well, yes, she could bring out the Wizarding radio that Hermione had gifted her on her seventeenth birthday, which contained a few hundred, if not thousand, songs, both Wizarding and Muggle. There was just something telling her that she shouldn’t. It was too risky this close to Teirm. If someone were taking a walk nearby in the forest, they would hear the music and undoubtedly go to investigate. The same was true inside of Teirm, and she wouldn’t be able to explain. It would have to wait until... a later point in time. She sighed deeply.

‘ _I want to visit the elves sometime in the future,_ ’ Helena told Godric. _‘It doesn’t have to be right away, or even before the Black King has fallen, but I need to see them._ ’

‘ _To see if they have any idea of how you appeared here?_ ’ Godric guessed. Well, it wasn’t really a guess, as he was in her mind as much as she was in his.

‘ _It’s not that I **need** to go home,_ ’ Helena admitted. ‘ _I just want to know how this could have happened. I don’t regret it, but it’s a mystery, and I don’t like mysteries. And if I was just able to send a message home, telling my friends that I am alive and well... it would take a great burden off of my chest._ ’

‘ _What makes you think that the elves have the answer?_ ’

‘ _Nothing, but they are the most magical attuned beings in Alagaësia, and the closest thing to wizards and witches as far as I have learned._ ’

‘ _What about the human magicians? Aren’t they just like the rest of your kind?_ ’ Godric asked curiously.

Helena hesitated. ‘ _I’m not too sure. Before coming here, I would’ve said yes. But after what Solembum told me..._ ’

‘ _Ah._ ’

‘ _Yes,_ ’ Helena smiled wryly. ‘ _Anyway, the elves might not have the answers I seek. In fact, I think it’s more likely that they don’t know rather than they do. But if they don’t, at least I know I shouldn’t search there_.’

‘ _Isn’t it possible that you will never find out?_ ’ the dragon asked, concern detectable in his mind. ‘ _I want you to find the answers you seek because I know it’s important to you, but I don’t want you to obsess over it. That won’t be healthy._ ’

‘ _I have you to stop me if I come to that point_ ,’ Helena smiled. Godric snorted. ‘ _It is a very real possibility that I will never find the answers I seek. There is a mystery in magic, and no matter how hard one may try, one could never uncover everything. I will search until you tell me to stop. I promise you that._ ’

‘ _And I promise you, that I won’t ask you to stop before I see you going too far,_ ’ Godric promised.

Helena sat up as she smiled warmly at Godric. ‘ _I know you won’t_.’ Scratching that special spot just below his jaw, Godric hummed in pleasure.

The Dragon Rider stayed with her dragon for another hour or so, before changing into her dire wolf form to head back into town. She would’ve spent more time with Godric, most likely till nightfall, if it wasn’t because the dragon needed to go hunt. While he wasn’t as easy to feed as when he was a hatchling, she still _could_ get enough meat for him. But Godric was a predator, and preferred to catch his food himself. Besides, Helena wanted to visit Jeod’s library for a little while. By now she had at least a good idea of what it contained, and she didn’t think there was much more to learn, but she wanted to be certain she hadn’t missed some vital piece – especially now that there were concrete plans of leaving Teirm, and thus the library wouldn’t be accessible to her. And, if by chance, she bumped into Evan there... Well, she wouldn’t complain.

When she had pulled the teenager away from Martha the Daft Bimbo, she had never thought he would’ve offered to escort her around town. And when she accepted, she wouldn’t have guessed at just how much she would enjoy it. Because, yes, she had genuinely enjoyed spending time with Evan; while it became self-evident rather fast that he hadn’t had a formal education, he was brilliant for someone only just reaching the age of sixteen. And then, of course, he wasn’t hard on the eyes – _at all_.

Evan had stood perhaps two or three centimetres above her, making him of average height. He had had these intense, warm, brown eyes, which conveyed so many emotions, and which had matched his brown hair of medium length. While he hadn’t been buff, he had some muscles on him. The closest thing Helena could compare his muscles to, was the muscles of a Quidditch player: lean and taut.

Godric had teased her endlessly when she had gone to him that evening, and Helena had let him. She wasn’t kidding herself at thinking that anything other than harmless fun could happen between them: Helena was a Dragon Rider, and would sooner or later be fighting the Empire. Evan was a sweet, ordinary boy, who had not only lost his birth parents, but also his Uncle who had been like a father to him. Helena wouldn’t even dare think of dragging him into her mess.

The only other time Helena had met Evan, was when she had visited Jeod’s library the day before last, two days after she had spent the afternoon with the sweet teenager. She honestly hadn’t expected to bump into him there, which was quite daft since Evan had told her that he and his uncle were staying with Jeod. He had been sitting in the library with his uncle, Neal, learning to read of all things. He had blushed so hard when he spotted her, and hadn’t been willing to meet her eyes, though not for the same reasons he had stuttered on their walk in Teirm; He had been embarrassed. Helena didn’t think he had anything to be embarrassed about, however: if he hadn’t learned to read at his age, then either no-one had been willing to take the time to teach him, or he had a severe case of dyslexia. Neither possibility was his fault. That he was trying to learn despite either reason was only good. No, he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Helena, however, knew that such a long tirade would do no good – especially as it would be making a big deal out of it –, so instead, she had merely smiled softly at him as she took her place at the opposite end of the room.

The road that lead through the southern gate of Teirm was reached after about half an hour of running. Morphing back to human, Helena quickly cast the Notice-Me-Not charm on herself. She shivered as she walked down the road, and drew her cloak tighter around her; pleasant as the weather was, it was still cold enough to freeze the bollocks off of a brass monkey. Merlin, she couldn’t wait until she had the heating charm down.

Expectedly, neither the guards nor the people at the stands noticed her as she walked in through the gate. What was also to be expected, but which put a damper on her mood, was the return of the nagging feeling that someone was watching her. She felt the mental eye-roll from Godric, but he didn’t say anything; he knew how worried she was about it, and admonishing her like a child would do neither of them good. So, he returned to focus on hunting, and Helena decided to ignore the feeling. She still glanced around a few times as she started walking towards the western end of Teirm, however.

Unlike normal citizens or visitors of Teirm who would’ve taken a longer way to the western end of the city to avoid walking through ‘the slums’, Helena walked straight through said slums. She had been there about a dozen times since arriving in Teirm, as it was the shortest way between the southern end, where the gate and the Singing Seagull laid, and the western end, where Jeod’s house laid. Others were scared of being assaulted in the poorer part of town, but Helena didn’t worry about that due to her magic.

It was almost as if the universe had heard her thoughts and decided to smack her down to prove her wrong, because it was less than a second later, as she walked past an alley, a pair of surprisingly strong arms grabbed her from behind. Before she could make heads or tails of the situations, her assaulter had her arms in a tight grip, preventing her from using magic with control. True, she could still use magic, but without focusing it into the mark Godric had left on her, there was no way she could direct it. She had just as big a chance at blowing up the next building over as she had of hurting her assaulter.

With magic out of the question, Helena decided to use Muggle methods. Remembering back to what Hermione had taught her shortly after they and Ron had gone on the run, the witch began to struggle against her assailant.

Stomping down hard on the man’s foot as she knocked her head back into his face, and was rewarded by colourful cursing. She felt the grip loosen momentarily on her hands, but only got to retrieve her left arm before his grip tightened once again. Pushing her elbow into his solar plexus, the Dragon Rider twisted around, ignoring the pain in her right arm as she did so, and kneed the assailant in the groin. A surprised wheeze emanated from him, and Helena grabbed quickly grabbed his hood before he could recover.

Her eyes widened as the man who had assaulted her was no other than Neal. He looked pissed, and was sporting what looked like a broken nose and a split lip. Helena couldn’t help but feel more than a small manner of satisfaction. Her small victory was short-lived; however, as Neal soon enough grabbed a fist full of her hair and drew her close.

“Slytha,” he spat out as they were mere centimetres from each other’s’ faces. A few drops of blood flew onto her cheeks, but she didn’t focus on that.

‘ _Helena!_ ’ Godric’s voice rung fearfully in her head. He felt it too, through her: a great wave of magic began coating her whole being. It was nothing like magic from back home: it was way more wild and unpredictable. Like a wyvern in a dog’s leash. She tried to fight it off with her own magic, but without being familiar with the magic, she had no chance. A fraction of a second after the struggle between her and Neal’s magic had begun, she lost, and the magic washed over her mind.

‘ _I’m coming,_ ’ Godric told her with great urgency.

‘ _No,_ ’ Helena managed to tell him in her losing fight. ‘ _Don’t... Too important... Away..’_

‘ _Helena!_ ’

As the world darkened around her, she could only hope that Godric had gotten the message. She was grateful of him being so far away from the city, or else he would undoubtedly already be raiding it to find and save her. Helena didn’t care much about what would happen to her, so long as the people she loved were safe – and, at the moment, Godric was the only one near her who fit into that category.

~ BWaC ~

“Vakna!”

Groggily Helena regained consciousness. Just like it had been magic which had knocked her out, it was also magic which had awoken her. She could feel it recede out from her body, dragging with it the remnants of the spell that had been cast on her earlier. A quick check-over revealed that it was only her right arm which was throbbing lightly in pain – most likely because of the twist she did while Neal had her in a grip.

Bastard.

It wasn’t long after discovering that she wasn’t hurt, that she noticed that she was bound to a chair and gagged. The room was dark due to the windows being covered up with fabric, but otherwise, it was of good standing. From what the witch could see, the walls and floor were well kept, and the few pieces of furniture were of high quality. But that wasn’t such a big surprise: if it was Neal who had kidnapped her, then it wasn’t so farfetched to think that Evan and Jeod were in on it too – which meant that they would bring her to Jeod’s house. It didn’t matter if she didn’t recognise the room, as she had only been in the library, the hallway, the kitchen, and the dining room. Jeod lived in a small mansion, as did the rest of the wealthy merchants, and had at least a dozen rooms Helena hadn’t seen.

“All right,” a gruff voice said. The same voice who had uttered the weird word – most likely the incantation of the spell that had awoken her, of a foreign language.

Helena’s eyes snapped from observing her surroundings to Neal. No longer did he appear a frail elderly man, but a warrior. The slight hunch to his back had straightened out, and the goofy, slightly crazed look on his face had faded away to give place to indifference. But what truly convinced Helena was the look in Neal’s eyes: they had a hard glint to them that only true warriors had. Helena had seen it in the eyes of the witches and wizards of the old Order of the Phoenix, in the eyes of many of her friends after Tom’s fall, and in her own eyes in the mirror.

However intimidated Helena was by the look in his eyes, it was kind of ruined by the blackening of his obviously broken nose. She had to fight herself to not smirk at that: smirking at her captor would only make the situation worse, and most likely lower her chances of escaping. The broken nose aside, though, the witch, grudgingly, had to admit that he was good to have hidden his warrior persona so well. She would even dare say that he would’ve made Alastor proud.

Mad-eye... Helena almost groaned out loud: he would give her such an ear lashing at being caught with her guard down. She had relied too much on her magic, confident that no-one would see her.

‘ _Helena, you’re awake!_ ’ Godric’s distressed voice called in her head. With it, she could feel the whirlwind of worry in mind. Her eyes widened in surprise at the tone, and at the sheer magnitude of his emotional turmoil. She had never felt him like this. ‘ _I’m coming for you._ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ Helena told him forcefully. ‘ _Don’t come near the city. They can’t know about you._ ’

‘ _I don’t care if they know about me!_ ’ Godric growled. ‘ _Nothing matters if you die!_ ’

‘ _I won’t die,_ ’ Helena told him.

‘ _And how can you be sure of that._ ’

‘ _Other than knocking me out, he hasn’t hurt me,_ ’ the Rider told the dragon. ‘ _And even that didn’t **hurt** me. He clearly wants information from me. I will escape.’_

Godric didn’t answer right away. ‘ _Fine, but if I sense **any** trouble, whatsoever, I’m coming for you. I’m only about half an hour away. And when you’re out of there, one way or the other, I’m not leaving you out of my sight.’_

 _‘I love you, too,_ ’ Helena told him. Godric didn’t respond. He was angry with her, she realised, but only because he was so worried. The dragon probably wholeheartedly agreed with the made-up Mad-Eye of her mind.

‘ _You bet I do_.’

“The two of us are going to have a small talk, little lady,” Neal spoke gruffly, looking her up and down suspiciously. “I knew there was something about you the moment that I laid eyes on you. And the way you tied Evan around your pinky finger was very sneaky and clever of you. He is still a naïve fifteen-year-old, and probably has never had a woman show him any attention before. He is just a love-struck teenager, and would never see it. And I don’t know how, but you somehow, at least temporarily, replicated the Rider mark.”

Helena’s eyes widened. Shifting her hands as much as she could, she could confirm that, yes, she wasn’t wearing her gloves. That meant that he had seen Godric’s mark. But what the hell was the barmy codger on about replicating it?

“Or perhaps it was Galbatorix?” Neal spat out. “I knew he had heard whisperings _of_ us, but to have tracked us down so quickly...” Neal had trailed off slightly, and Helena managed to spot a worried undertone. He schooled his face quickly, though, and focused on her again. “You have to be working for the Black King... That is the only explanation.” He glanced at her. “Perhaps a Black Hand, hmm?”

While he didn’t raise his voice, the tied-up Dragon Rider almost wished that he would. Sometimes it was that much worse when the interrogator spoke with that distant, clinical voice. Riddle had never raised his voice either... Helena suppressed a shiver. She was not going to show weakness.

The intimidation had only lasted a moment, as slowly seething anger took its place. She had come to well and truly hate Galbatorix for what he had done to the dragons and the Dragon Riders. He hadn’t only slaughtered an entire race of sentient beings and an order of peace, but by doing so had caused the misery of over a generation of humans who lived under his rule. It was saying something that she really _hated_ the Black King, because for all that Tom had done, she felt sorry for him; but not Galbatorix, and for anyone to suspect her to work for him... It was one of the greatest insults to her person.

She squashed the anger down the best she could, however; losing her cool would do no good. So instead she settled with glaring at him. He clearly didn’t expect her to answer, as he had her gagged. It was most likely to prevent her from casting spells. Wasn’t non-verbal magic known around these parts? He had to know that she could do magic, else there had been no reason to grab her arms the way he had back in the alleyway. If he genuinely expected her to be incapacitated at the moment, then she had her way out.

As the man continued to ramble about her possible loyalties, she began her escape plan, all the while she didn’t waver her glare on him. Feeling the rope around her hands, she envisioned it in her mind’s eye. Very slowly, and with _great_ concentration, she cast the absolute weakest _Diffindo_ she could. This was where all her training showed; she felt the drain from her core, and was greatly relieved, and elated, when the Cutting Charm only just had enough power to cut through her constraints.

Helena grasped the rope before it fell to the floor, as to keep Neal in the unknown. She was going to play the role of the defenceless prisoner for a while more.

‘ _Just get **out of there**!’_ Godric growled.

‘ _What if he has information that we could use?_ ’ Helena tried to reason with the dragon.

‘ _And what kind of information could the mental poofter know, which we could use?_ ’ the ruby dragon asked, getting more and more frustrated.

‘ _He could reveal information about the Varden, the elves, Galbatorix, all of the above?_ ’

‘... _fine,_ ’ Godric grudgingly agreed. ‘ _Just... be careful.’_ The last part was said in a whine that made Helena feel guilty. But she still thought this was the right thing to do.

“You can’t be a Dragon Rider,” Neal dismissed, far too quickly for Helena’s liking, because she _was_ a Dragon Rider. Barmy old clunge that was what he was. “If Galbatorix had been successful in making one of his two eggs hatch, he would spread the information far and wide. News like that would’ve been devastating for the morale of the Varden. Yes, there is no possible explanation for him to withhold that information at this point in time.”

Helena kept up the glare, kept up her appearance in front of Neal, but mentally she was jumping up and down at the information. The Oath-Breaker had two dragon eggs in his possession! Godric was just as elated: he _wasn’t_ the last dragon, apart from Shruikan.

‘ _I told you we could get good information_ ,’ Helena gloated. No one had ever blamed her for being humble, especially not when she was proven right.

‘ _Yeah, well, let us not celebrate before you’re out of there_ ,’ Godric countered. And he was correct, of course. Even if Neal somehow ranted out all the information they needed – one had to love when the enemy started an extensive monologue –, it would be of no use to her and Godric if she was captured for good. After all, how would she save the eggs if she was either locked tightly in a dungeon, or lying dead in a ditch?

Suddenly Neal’s demeanour changed. Instead of walking back and forward in front of her, as he talked more to himself than to her, he stopped right in front of her.

“I’m not going to lie to you: this is going to hurt,” Neal told her devoid of emotion. “I need to know what you know, and I can’t risk you going back to Galbatorix with valuable information.”

He was going to break into her mind, she realised. Her eyes narrowed into slits: she would very much like to see him try. After years of Tom trying to break into her mind, she wasn't a novice at Occlumency.

‘ _Helena-._ ‘Godric began warning her, as Neal took a deep breath in preparation. And then the door to the room slammed open, revealing Evan.

Evan looked confused at first. But when he saw her bound to the chair, he looked horrified up at Neal. More importantly, Neal took his eyes off of Helena for a moment.

‘ _Helena, now!_ ’ Godric demanded, and she agreed: she couldn’t risk it anymore, and she wasn’t going to get a better chance. Evan had to be in on it, and while she was strong, they outnumbered her, and at least Neal had mastered a form of magic that she had no idea how to counter.

“Brom-.“Evan started, but Helena didn’t pay attention. Quickly, she let go of the binding around her wrist, tore the gag from her mouth, and pointed her hand at Neal. His eyes widened, but it was too late.

“Depulso! Incarcerous! Levicorpus! Silencio!” Helena cried, the silver marking on her left palm lit up, and the spells took effect. First Neal was pushed violently through the room, hitting the wall with so much force that the wood groaned. Before he had hit the ground, thick ropes bound him from his feet to his shoulders, and the Levicorpus hoisted him into the air by his ankles. Finally, the Silencing Spells prevented him from casting any verbal counter-spells. There was still the risk of him knowing non-verbal spells, but seeing as he hadn’t thought of the possibility that she could cast non-verbal spells, Helena deemed the risk to be small.

“Diffindo,” Helena commanded her magic, as she motioned towards the ropes that bound her legs to the legs of the chair. Unlike when she had cut the bindings around her hand, there was no reason for her to hold back now: she just needed to get free and get out of there. So that was why the Cutting Charm didn’t only cut the ropes, but also deeply into the floor, possible all the way through to the room below.

Helena turned threateningly towards Evan who stood frozen where he had been when her escape had started. It was irrational, as they didn’t really know each other, but Helena felt betrayed by him. A good stunning spell should be good enough.

The Dragon Rider raised her hand, the incantation on her lips, when Evan seemed to unfreeze. He looked at her with wide eyes.

“No! Wait! Wait!” He cried hastily, his eyes wide in an emotion Helena couldn’t identify. Of course, she wasn’t going to listen... But then he quickly discarded the glove from his right hand, and raised his palm towards her. “I’m a Dragon Rider, too!”

Helena’s eyes widened, and the incantation of the Stunning Spell died on her lips. She stared unbelievingly at the marking on Evan’s hand. It was on his right palm unlike her own which was on her left, and instead of being in the smack middle, it was slightly towards his thumb. Looking up at the teenager, he looked relieved – probably because he had sensed that what she had been about to do to him wouldn’t have been pleasant. Helena... didn’t know how to feel. She was elated that there was another Dragon Rider, and thus another dragon, out there, but she _had_ just been kidnapped and almost mind-raped.

Numbly she walked over to Evan, not looking him in the eyes. She grabbed his right hand, turned the palm up, and let her fingers sweep lightly across his mark. He visibly shivered at the contact, but didn’t protest. He let her examine his mark for as long as she pleased.

‘ _Godric..._ ’ Helena breathed in her mind. ‘ _This is... is like my mark. I think. But I don’t trust myself right now._ ’ Her inner voice was shaky with emotion.

‘ _It is_ ,’ Godric confirmed. He was handling it a bit better. He was still anxious for her, but not as much as he had been just a minute ago. But Helena knew that the ruby dragon would only feel calm once she was with him, in front of him, whole and unhurt. ‘ _We’re not alone_.’

Helena looked up at Evan. She couldn’t imagine what her face must’ve looked like: she was feeling so many things at once. Shock, relief, curiosity, _anger_. She felt out of control, her heartbeat racing away, and her mind feeling numb and clouded.

“You’re a Dragon Rider,” Helena breathed, looking at him if she had only seen him for the first time now.

“So are you,” Evan answered, a big smile spread out on his lips. It wasn’t a typical smile, not a simply happy one, or a vindictive one, it was a smile of a person who was relieved, like finding a lost family member after being separated for years, or like finding your other half.

Helena laughed. She couldn’t help but to. Evan did as well. Not knowing what else to do, she hugged him tightly. He froze up for a second, before hugging her as well. The female Dragon Rider didn’t know how long they stood there: she just knew that she felt safe and sound.

She and Godric weren’t alone anymore.

~ BWaC ~

“Start talking.”

“You talk first.”

“Me first!?”

“Yes! You first! It was _you_ who _kidnapped_ me, and _tied me to a chair_!”

“That might very well be, but-.“

“You were even going to mind-rape me! I believe the first question is rightfully mine!”

Helena and Brom – because that was his name, _not_ Neal – sat on opposite sides of the table, glaring heavily at each other. Now, Helena wasn’t one to hold grudges, but when Brom tried to _justify_ what he had done, and not even apologising... Seriously, what was he thinking!?

Eragon – that was Evan’s real name – sat uncomfortably between them, looking worriedly back and forward. It was him who had coached her to release Brom from her spells, and had looked very interested as she had done it non-verbally with a simple wave of her hand. Brom hadn’t been happy, and had torn into Eragon for trusting her so quickly. Eragon had then torn into Brom, yelling at him that they had only agreed on observing her _not_ kidnapping her. At least she knew she wasn’t going crazy, and Godric actually felt bad for dismissing her worries.

The air between the three of them had been tense, to say the least.

In the end they had agreed to sit down around the table in the library and talk it out. But apparently Brom’s idea of ‘talking it out’ was just to keep on interrogating her. Sure, she was going to talk when she knew the old tosser could be trusted, but not a moment before. Something told her that she could trust Eragon, but Eragon trusted Brom, so she wasn’t talking to him either. No, it was Brom who needed to start.

“Brom, she has got a point,” Eragon tried to ease the tension. “What you did was uncalled for.” Brom glared at Eragon, but Eragon didn’t let up.

The old man grumbled to himself, before gritting out, “Fine. Ask your question.”

“Who are you? Both of you,” Helena started with her arms crossed. She wasn’t taking her eyes off of Brom. As of right now, she didn’t trust him farther than she could throw him. She felt Godric quirk a metaphorical eyebrow, and she had to suppress a snort. All right, seeing as she had tossed him clear across her interrogation room with magic, that might not be the best way to put it. She still didn’t trust him, though.

“Be more specific.”

Helena glared. “Listen, I know you can’t just tell me everything right off the bat, but you’ve got to start somewhere. If you answer the question, and without you feeling you’re revealing too much, I will answer a question as well. But like you, I’m not comfortable telling you my life’s story just yet!”

The two glared for about a minute before Brom sighed. And he started talking.

Soon enough Helena became engrossed in the tale the two told. The two were both from Carvahall, a small village on the other side of the Spine far to the north. Brom had only there some fifteen years ago, while Eragon had been raised there. Brom didn’t reveal more of his past, but by the look on Eragon’s face, that wasn’t unusual. Eragon told of how a blue dragon’s egg had appeared before him in a blinding flash of light as he was hunting, and how a female dragon, who he later named Saphira, had hatched for him. Helena was amused at how similar their raising of their partner was: Eragon had, too, hidden Saphira in the wild, where he had built a small hut for her. And then the tale took a darker turn, as Eragon’s Uncle Garrow was murdered by unnatural beings by the name of Ra’zac. From what the two told of these creatures, there was nothing like them in the Wizarding World – and thank Merlin for that.

“So you’re here in Teirm to look through the records of this Seithr Oil?” Helena asked to be sure.

Eragon nodded seriously. “It’s our best bet at finding them. Seithr Oil is the main ingredient of the poison they used on Uncle Ga- in the poison they use.” He got a pained expression on his face as he thought of his uncle, and Helena couldn’t blame him.

All things considered, Helena could understand where Brom had come from better now. It still didn’t make it okay.

“All right, now you’ve heard our story,” Brom grunted. Both he and she had calmed somewhat down from the... incident earlier. At least they could be civil towards each other now. “Now it’s your turn.”

“That’s only fair,” Helena nodded, her face remaining bland. “Ask away.”

“I have many questions, but let us start with this one: Who are you?”

Helena sighed. “My full name and title is Lady Helichrysa Euphemia Potter, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, The-Girl-Who-Lived and The-Woman-Who-Conquered. Oh, and Goblin Enemy.” She winced at the last one she had been bestowed by the Goblin Nation, as she had been allowed to empty her Vaults. Hermione and Ron had received the title as well. The Goblins _really_ didn’t take kindly to people successfully breaking their ‘none successful break-ins’-streak. “But please just call me Helena.”

Eragon was gawking at her, while Brom simply blinked surprised.

“I can’t say I’ve heard of you, or of the Houses of which you speak. Or of goblins, for that matter,” Brom told her straightforwardly. She could at least respect that about him: he wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

“I’m not surprised, as I’m not really from around here,” Helena laughed humourlessly. Yes, it was still a sore point.

“Jeod told us that,” Eragon said with a frown. “He said that you aren’t at all from around here. Are you from across the sea?”

Helena frowned. She didn’t think Jeod would tell anyone about her. But, then again... from Brom’s and Eragon’s tale, she could discern that the merchant trusted Brom almost explicitly – though she didn’t know why. She herself told Hermione and Ron almost everything – the lessons with Dumbledore being a prime example –, so she couldn’t really blame the merchant. She shook her head of the thoughts.

“No,” Helena answered with another sigh. “I’m from a place called England, a nation located on a world called Earth. And I have no idea where that is in relation to Alagaësia or even this world.”

This time she got a more visible reaction from Brom. His pipe fell from his mouth, though he caught it quickly. He looked her up and down, probably to try and discern any lies. As he sat back, slightly gobsmacked, he seemed to believe her.

“And how did you travel here?” Brom asked.

Helena quirked an eyebrow. “You believe me?”

Brom made a face. “I don’t know. There are many unknowns, but it is one possible explanation.” Helena’s lips twitched at the answer. It was hard not to admire the old man, despite his gruff exterior.

“I don’t know how I travelled here,” Helena answered frustrated. “I woke up somewhere north within the Spine, naked as a wee babe, and with Godric’s egg, among other things lying around me.”

“Who’s Godric?” Eragon asked.

Helena smiled to him, “The dragon with who I have partnered with.” Yes, ‘my dragon’ might’ve been a shorter answer, but that didn’t seem right to say. Godric wasn’t _hers_ , he was his own person. He was her partner, the other half of her soul. In the back of her mind Godric hummed in agreement, showing her he felt the same way about her. He went quiet a moment after, sitting back and simply observed the conversation from her mind.

Eragon smiled stupidly. Even Brom smiled, which was the first time the witch had seen him do that.

“While I do want to know more about Godric,” Brom admitted, “I’d rather know more about how you came to be here first.”

Helena sighed. “I can’t tell you that – and not because I don’t want to,” Helena held up a hand as Brom was about to interrupt her. “I have absolutely _no_ memory of how I came to be lying naked in the Spine. The last memory I have is of me having a drink with a friend of mine in a pub.”

“What’s a pub?” Eragon asked.

“What about a bar?” Helena tried. Neither of them recognised the word. Helena thought hard of an older term, “or a tavern?”

“Ah,” Eragon smiled. Then he frowned. “Is it normal for women of your world to drink?”

Helena snorted. “Yes, sometimes too much.”

Eragon was about to ask another question, but Brom beat him to it.

“So, you have no memories whatsoever, between you drinking in this... pub, and you waking up in the spine?”

“No.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t have too much to drink?” Brom asked with a raised eyebrow.

Helena sent him a light glare. “Yes, I’m sure. We were sharing a small bottle of firewhisky while catching up. We weren’t getting hammered over some heartbreak.” Helena sighed. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I knew that I was going _somewhere_ at least,” she admitted, thinking of her packed beaded bag.

“How is that?”

“This bag,” Helena said, putting it up on the table, “only I can put things in it, and retrieve things from it; and I’ve packed it like I expected to go on a _very_ long journey. I mean, the Potter and Black libraries, my whole fortune, not to say food enough for months – well; now there is only enough for a few weeks.”

“But it’s so small!” Eragon exclaimed.

Helena smirked and her eyes all but twinkled in mirth. “It’s magic.”

Eragon’s eyes widened, and then he got quiet. He looked curiously at her, Brom mirroring him. Helena couldn’t help but think that they in that moment seemed remarkably alike. Almost like father and son.

“Yes, about that...” Brom cleared his throat. “What you did up there... and the bag... It’s not like any magic I’ve seen before. And the spells you used on me, they weren’t in the Ancient Language – even though magic is supposed to be bound to it.”

“What’s the Ancient Language?” Helena asked confused.

“It’s a longer subject,” Brom admitted. “For now it will suffice to say that it’s the language of magic and the elves.”

Helena nodded, filing the information away. “No, they were not in the ‘Ancient Language’. They were in a variation of Latin.”

“Latin,” Brom frowned. Then he shook his head. “Yeah, I haven’t heard of that language before, but that’s not really surprising, is it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But, wait,” Eragon stepped in, clearly confused. “How did you learn that since Godric hatched, if he hatched here?”

“Oh, that’s easy to answer,” Helena said nonchalantly. “I learned it back on Earth: I’m a witch.”

Eragon blinked. “A witch?” Helena nodded, and he turned to Brom. “Didn’t you say that witches and wizards got their powers through potions?”

Helena’s interest quickly perked. This she hadn’t heard of; Jeod’s library had held many interesting subjects, but, like the dragons and Dragon Riders, magic had not been a subject well represented.

“I did. Of the three different kinds of magic users, they are both the rarest and usually-,” Brom looked at her, and it was clear she didn’t fit into that category, “-the weakest.”

Helena bristled slightly at her kind being called weak, but shoved those feelings aside and focused on what was more important.

“Three different kinds of magic-users?” she asked. That was news to her.

Eragon answered the question for her. “Magicians, sorcerers, and wizards.”

“They are not the same here?” Helena asked. Back home, a sorcerer was simply a name of a powerful wizard – she herself had been referred to as a sorceress by the centaurs a few times. The term magician wasn’t often used by her kind back home, but for mocking a weaker witch or wizard; the literal meaning was a Muggle pretending to be a wizard.

“They are not, but this is hardly the time to go into that,” Brom cut Eragon off. “Now, about...”

And thus a round of what resembled twenty questions started, and Helena told the two Alagaësians about the Wizarding World. They, of course, wanted to know about her life, but she only told them the broad strokes. Even then, they interrupted her so many times to explain unfamiliar expressions that it was near impossible.

It was going to be a long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only minor corrections in this chapter, and the last scene was expanded a bit. I hope you enjoyed it. Anyone else enjoyed hearing a noble dragon call someone a ‘mental poofter’?  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> Ancient Language Translations:  
> Slytha - Sleep  
> Vakna - Awaken


	5. Going On A New Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing out here?” Eragon’s voice asked from behind her.  
> Helena’s eyes snapped open and she looked up at him. He was smiling insecurely down at her. She smiled softly back at him, motioning for him to sit down beside her on the bench. He did so, only hesitating slightly.  
> “I’m thinking,” Helena admitted with a sigh.  
> “About?” Eragon asked in curiosity.  
> “You,” she told him truthfully. Eragon’s eyes widened. “Me, us, Godric and Saphira, this whole messed up situation. I’m trying to not talk tosh here, but I don’t think it can be avoided entirely.”  
> Eragon sighed heavily. “Quite a huge subject.”  
> Helena snorted. “You can say that again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Helena blew the steam off of her tea, before taking a small sip. Warming her hands on the cup, the Dragon Rider looked out over the small garden that lay behind Jeod’s house. It was amazing that such a sanctuary for nature could exist within the city-walls: nowhere else, other than Angela’s shop and the occasional potted plant, had she seen greenery inside of Teirm. But she wasn’t going to look a gift unicorn in the mouth, and was simply thankful for the peace and tranquillity that it brought. Merlin only knew that she needed it at the moment; making heads or tails of the whole situation was nearly driving her barmy.

Another free Dragon Rider… It was almost too good to believe. She might not be as knowledgeable about the land and its history as a native citizen would be, but she had never seen it coming. In her mind, it had been her against Galbatorix in the end. It had been that way ever since she had learned that she wouldn’t be able to live in peace from him. Sure, she would have support, as she had against Tom Riddle, but in the end, it would be one on one between her and the big baddie. But not anymore, because Eragon was there.

Helena let out a humourless laugh. Just as she was beginning to think that she had a grip on what was real or possible, and what was not, something happened that made her feel like she was back at square one.

The firewhisky in her bag seemed to beckon her louder and louder, but it was not the time.

Eragon, Saphira, and Brom raised a lot of questions, but, at least for the moment, the most important of them was this: should she and Godric join up with them, at least temporarily?

Helena trusted Eragon, her instincts telling her that the boy was trustworthy. And since her instincts were correct about her being watched, and that if she had actually listened to them, Brom might not have gotten the drop on her... She was going to listen to her gut this time. Of course, she wasn’t going to trust him from the very start unconditionally, but she at least wasn’t suspicious of him. The same could not be said about Brom.

After having heard their story, Helena truly understood where the old storyteller had been coming from. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider would even go as far as to say she might’ve done something similar if she had been in his situation. But understanding and trusting were two very different concepts. To say that she _dis_ trusted the old man would be going too far, but she wasn’t going to put her life in his hands, not without him having proved himself to her. Helena didn’t doubt that the feeling was mutual, and she was completely comfortable with that.

Back to the question at hand, however; the most crucial issue that joining Eragon and Brom raised, was that they had no concrete plans of going to either the Varden or the elves. Eragon was utterly fixated on getting his revenge on these ‘Ra’zac’ creatures, and Brom was humouring him, but that was as far as she could discern their plans for the future. Eragon didn’t seem to have the need to fight the Black King like Helena and Godric had. She didn’t know how Saphira felt about the subject, not having met the female dragon yet, but if she was anything like Godric, she wouldn’t be able to stand by when others would be fighting the Oath-Breaker.

‘ _If she is able to just stand idly by, then she is not one I would like to meet,_ ’ Godric told Helena.

‘ _Not even if she is the last female dragon in existence?_ ’ Helena asked curiously. ‘ _There are no guarantees that one of the remaining eggs in the Black King’s possession will hatch another female. If that is the case, then Saphira would be the only chance of reviving your race._ ’

Godric didn’t answer right away, considering what she had said.

‘ _Perhaps then,_ ’ the ruby dragon admitted. ‘ _But I wouldn’t want to have anything else to do with her._ ’

Helena didn’t respond. She didn’t have an opinion either way of what Godric had just told her. As much as their thoughts and feelings flowed freely through their mental link, they were still two independent beings. And as intelligent as Godric was, he was also fundamentally different from her, with him being a dragon and her being a witch. Now, personally, Helena didn’t hold anything against the witches and wizards who hadn’t fought against Tom in the Second Blood War, but that was mainly because she knew they hadn’t wanted to call his wrath down upon their families. Saphira, however, didn’t have any family left. Well, apart from Eragon –  and, yes, he was her family, just as much as Helena was Godric’s, if ‘family’ even managed to describe the depth of their bond.

Brom, as Helena had mentioned, seemed to be humouring Eragon. It was on purpose she used the word ‘humour’, because she was absolutely sure that the old man had many plans for the future, and simply hadn’t shared them with the younger Dragon Rider. The old man had as many secrets as Alastor Moody, and was almost as paranoid. The only thing she was certain about when it came to him, was that she shouldn’t be certain about anything.

Like she had said, it was an utterly smashing situation. Please note the sarcasm.

Sighing deeply, Helena closed her eyes. The bustle of Teirm was all around her, and she noticed that she had come to find it comforting. She just wished it could calm her troubles better.

In the end, Helena knew that she was probably going to go with Eragon and Brom. Whether or not Eragon knew if he wanted to fight the Black King yet, he was another Dragon Rider, and Helena wanted to get to know him and Saphira. And then there was Brom with his knowledge of the Dragon Riders; She could really use some training under him, if he was willing that was. And if, in the end, they came to a point where she realised that the two wouldn’t go against Galbatorix, then she and Godric could always part ways with them.

“What are you doing out here?” Eragon’s voice asked from behind her.

Helena’s eyes snapped open and she looked up at him. He was smiling insecurely down at her. She smiled softly back at him, motioning for him to sit down beside her on the bench. He did so, only hesitating slightly.

“I’m thinking,” Helena admitted with a sigh.

“About?” Eragon asked in curiosity.

“You,” she told him truthfully. Eragon’s eyes widened. “Me, us, Godric and Saphira, this whole messed up situation. I’m trying not to talk tosh here, but I don’t think it can be avoided entirely.”

Eragon sighed heavily. “Quite a huge subject.”

Helena snorted. “You can say that again.”

“Why?” the other Dragon Rider asked confused.

Helena quirked an eyebrow at him, “Why what?”

“Why should I say it again?”

“Oh,” Helena chuckled. “No, you shouldn’t. It’s an expression from home. It means that I wholeheartedly agree with your statement.”

Eragon didn’t answer right away, instead looking like he needed to consider her answer. While others might’ve been uncomfortable by the sudden silence, Helena was beyond such a thing. After everything she had been put through during her Hogwarts Years – especially her Second and Fourth Years were coming to mind, with all the whispering, pointing, and blaming –, she had developed a kind of immunity when it came to that.

“You really aren’t from this world, are you?” he asked after about half a minute. She looked up at him, tilting her head inquisitively. “I know you told us, but I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around it. I mean, before Saphira hatched, I didn’t consider much more of the world than what of it that lay inside the Empire. To even try to imagine another world entirely, it’s mind-blowing.”

“I’m not much better off than you are,” Helena told him with a sympathetic smile and a nudge. “I’ve been here for some two months now, and I think the only reason I have truly accepted it, is because I am _on_ another world. So, I’ve accepted it, but I know I won’t truly put it behind me before I know how this whole thing happened.”

“Do you miss your home?” Eragon asked her.

“I do. Very much so,” Helena said softly, not meeting his eyes. “As with any place, there were things that were less than optimal, but the good things far outweighed them. And compared to the state the Empire is in, it is a heavenly kingdom.” Helena glanced up at him. “You must miss Carvahall as well. You might not be a whole world away from it, but the way I understand it, you can no more return there than I can return home.”

“Of course I miss it,” Eragon sighed in a sorrowful tone. “I miss everything about it, even dealing with Sloan. I miss helping Garrow with the farm, I miss hunting in the Spine, I miss the spats and talks I had with Roran.” He returned her gaze. “I hope I _will_ be able to return one day, but even then... When I think about it, I realise it will never be the same.”

Helena was surprised at how candid the brown-haired boy was with her. But, then again, she was also honest with him. While they had, respectively, Godric and Saphira to talk to, there were just some things they couldn’t understand – an example was her and Godric’s different opinions of how to deal with individuals who won’t fight. And, true, Eragon had had Brom, and Helena had chatted with Helen a bit, but they would never understand either. For better or worse, Helena and Eragon had bewildered themselves into similar situations, and that had created a connection between them.

“Do you want it to be the same?” Helena asked him curiously after a few moments. “I know that Godric would never truly enjoy such a life. Isn’t the same true for Saphira?”

“It is,” Eragon admitted. “And, no, I don’t want it to be the same. I don’t think so, at least.” He looked slightly conflicted.

It was at times like these that it became apparent that he was younger than Helena. And she didn’t just mean because she was a few years older, but also because of all she had been through. From what Helena could understand, up until Saphira hatching for him, Eragon had led quite an uneventful life. Helena’s life had been anything but uneventful since her reintroduction to the Wizarding World. To put it simply: Eragon wasn’t used to dealing with such drastic changes in his life.

Helena chuckled. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

“I guess we do,” Eragon agreed with a twitch of his lips.

“It’s this afternoon that you’ll try to steal the Seithr Oil records from the Citadel, right?” Helena asked, deciding to change the subject.

Eragon nodded. “I wish that you’d come with us. After seeing you take down Brom with your magic, I know that we could use you if we ran into trouble.”

“You know, the idea is that you _shouldn’t_ run into trouble,” Helena teased. Eragon smiled back. “Besides, Brom is correct: it would be too suspicious. Since arriving in Teirm I have gained a reputation, and people know of me. And while it is known that I know Jeod, our relationship goes no further than me borrowing his library; he has never taken me to the Citadel before, and neither have I visited it on my own. To bring me for the first time, _along_ with you and Brom, to retrieve ‘something that you’ve forgotten’ would bring too much attention upon us.”

“But can’t you use the same kind of magic that you’ve used to get in and out of the city unnoticed?”

“It doesn’t always work,” Helena shook her head. “You and Brom are perfect examples of that. And if I used a Disillusionment Charm-.“

“A what charm?” Eragon interrupted.

“Invisibility,” Helena clarified. Eragon’s eyes widened. “I could cast that upon myself, but there are certain to be wards upon the Citadel, and I’m still unsure of how my magic interacts with this world’s magic.”

“Erm... What are wards?” Eragon asked again, embarrassed.

Helena chuckled. “Protective magic cast upon a place. If you can imagine it, it is kind of like a magic shield against magic.”

“It must’ve been strange to grow up with magic all around you,” Eragon commented with a scrunched-up face. “I can’t even imagine it.”

“And I can’t imagine growing up without it,” Helena chuckled. She leaned back and looked up at the sky. The cloud cover was thick that day, even more so than it usually was in Teirm, and it darkened the day considerably. “I did grow up with some nasty relatives of mine who are Muggles. I lived with them from when I was a year old until I was eleven. But that is such a faraway memory now.”

“What are Muggles?” Eragon asked, once again. Helena smiled: she liked that about him. When he didn’t understand something, the male Dragon Rider wasn’t afraid of asking.

“Non-magic folk,” Helena explained. “Remember how I explained that the witches and wizards of my world were hidden away from the mundane world?” Eragon nodded. “We couldn’t exactly say ‘non-magic folk’ out in their world, so we say Muggles instead.”

Eragon had a weird look on his face, and slightly pursed lips.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I am trying to decide if Muggle sounds insulting or not,” he said, looking contemplative.

Helena shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t believe it is meant to be. The Americans – another nation on my world,” she explained as Eragon opened his mouth. He blushed slightly. “They call the Muggles ‘No-Maj’. It’s short for ‘no magic’. It is merely a way to not call attention to ourselves when we are not in one of our communities.”

“How come your people hid themselves from the Muggles?” Eragon asked with a frown. “Here magicians live around us. While it doesn’t sound like there are anywhere as many of them as there are in your world, there are at least a handful of magic-users in each city.”

Helena got a dark look on her face, making Eragon audibly gulp.

“It’s a part of our history that we call the Dark Ages,” Helena began explaining. “The Muggles began to grow suspicious of witches and wizards. Especially witches. That suspicion was only enhanced by religion. And then they started burning us at the stake.”

Eragon looked horrified. “ _Alive?_ ”

Helena nodded, confirming it. “While many managed to escape, others were not as lucky, and were immediately stripped of their wands when they were arrested. And without their wands, their chances of escaping were near nil. Of course, the far majority of the people who died were Muggles. My friend, who is a Muggleborn, told me that up to several hundred-of-thousands of people could’ve been burned over a period of six-hundred years.

“Did you say hundred-of-thousands?” Eragon asked wide-eyed.

Helena nodded. “Like I said, most were Muggles. My kind hid themselves after the first hundred-and-fifty years. We call it the Statute of Secrecy. By now the Muggles believe we are a myth.”

“Wasn’t that a bit extreme?” As soon as Eragon had asked the question, he seemed to regret it. Helena had sent a mighty glare in his direction, and he all but shrunk in on himself.

“Extreme?” she asked him, her tone as hard as flint. “Would you want to live amongst people who wanted you dead, simply because you were born with a skill that they didn’t possess?”

“I suppose not,” Eragon answered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.“

“It’s fine,” Helena cut him off. “It’s a sore subject, alright? Just, if we ever bump into another witch or wizard – from my world I mean –, don’t bring it up.”

Eragon chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Helena’s lips twitched.

Brom walked out of the house not long after, informing Eragon that it was time. He looked blandly at Helena, and she returned the favour. Eragon stood between them, looking uncertainly from one to the other.

“Good luck,” Helena told them.

“Thanks,” Eragon smiled. Brom nodded stiffly.

“Have you decided whether or not you will accompany us after our business here is over?” Brom asked of her. Suddenly Eragon looked very concerned. “If things go badly, we’ll leave right away. If not, then we’ll leave in the morning.”

Helena bit her lower lip. ‘ _Godric?’_

‘ _You said it yourself; we can always leave them later on,_ ’ was his answer. Helena nodded.

“We’ll join you, at least for now,” Helena answered candidly. “I assume I need to get my hands on a horse, then?”

“Indeed. And you need to be quick – like I said, we could leave within a half-an-hour’s notice if things go awry.”

“I overheard someone in the inn the other day, that Oscar Frederickson was looking to sell a few horses,” Helena told them. “Something about not being able to run as many trade-wagons to Dras-Leona as he used to. He lives down by the south gate.”

“And you have the finances?” Brom asked.

Helena quirked an eyebrow: was he truly offering to pay? Not that it mattered. “I do.”

Brom only nodded and turned to walk into the house again. Eragon looked to be almost skipping, and Helena wanted to grimace. An infatuation she could handle, but it could hurt them all – quite literally – if he began thinking that she was the bee’s knees.

Brom dragged Eragon with him before anything else could be said, and a few minutes later Helena heard the front door open and close. She would admit being a bit anxious about what they were planning, but as much as she distrusted Brom’s person, she trusted his skills. She could at least trust him as far as to keep Eragon safe.

Helena finished up her cup of tea, which had cooled slightly, and deposited it in the kitchen. She chatted a little with Helen, and was relieved to notice that she was none the wiser of what had taken place; Helen and Jeod had enough marital problems as it was.

Bidding the middle-aged woman goodbye, Helena went down to buy a horse. It was almost nightfall by then, and the gates would close any minute then, but the inside of the city would still be awake for a few hours still. A question asked here and there, and she soon found her way to Oscar Frederiksson. He was a blacksmith and trader, she discovered, and owned quite a piece of earth just inside of the city walls. It housed a small two-story house, an open smithy with an overhang roof, and a stable, from which he ran his business. As she approached she could smell the smoke of the smithy and heard the clang of hammer upon steel as two men talked.

”You shoe that gelding, boy?”

“Yes, father.”

“Groom him, too, did you?”

“You know I did.”

“And did you clean out that muck?”

“Yes, father, I did. And I watered him, and got fresh feed, and refitted the old saddle, just like you asked. Is there anything else?”

“Don’t suppose there is. But you don’t have to be so damned prickly.”

Helena hid a snort as she turned the last corner, coming face to face with the two men.

One of them was in his mid-forties; Oscar, if Helena wasn’t mistaken. He stood bent by the fire, working on what looked like a decent sword. He was a large man, and if his round belly was something to judge by, his business was going well. Helena spotted a few scars on his arms, caused by burns if she was judging them correctly. But, then again, that wasn’t so surprising, with him being a smith and all.

The other man could only be a few years older than Helena. He was alright looking, with blond locks and blue eyes. Compared to his father, he was quite scrawny if she was frank, and he had no burns: he clearly wasn’t a smith. He looked up when she turned the corner, and his eyes widened. He straightened up and smoothed out the creases of his dirtied shirt.

“Hello,” he greeted her with what Helena was sure he thought was a charming smile. “What is a fine young lady like you doing all the way down here?”

Oscar the Smith stopped his work on the sword and looked up. His eyes also widened, and there was a glimmer of recognition in them.

“Wotcher,” Helena greeted back, taking pleasure in seeing their confused glances. “I am here to buy a horse. I overheard someone talk in the inn the other night that you had a few horses to sell. I hope that I am not too late.”

“No, no,” the young man shook his head, all too eager to please her. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. He was clearly using his smaller brain at the moment. “We have a horse to sell.”

“Harrold, don’t you have a delivery to make?” Oscar asked, as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “Sigurd was quite adamant that he received his order as soon as possible.”

The younger man, Harrold, shot his father a dirty look. “But, father-.“

“Now, Harrold,” Oscar cut him off. Harrold glared at the man, but did as he said. He grabbed a bag and walked out of the smithy, throwing one last hungry look at Helena.

“Thank you,” Helena told him when Harrold was out of hearing range.

“You’re welcome,” Oscar told her with a small chuckle. “I’m sorry about my boy. He doesn’t quite know how to act around the fairer gender, I’m afraid, and certainly not one of your standing.” Helena just smiled at that, knowing it wouldn’t help if she corrected him. “I’m Oscar Frederiksson, though you can just call me Oscar. If I’m not mistaken, you must be Lady Helena.”

“Just Helena, please,” Helena asked of him.

Oscar blinked, surprised. “Sure, Helena it is, then. Now, you wanted to buy a horse? I’m afraid we only have one left, but she has been well taken care of.”

“How old are your horses?”

“None of them are older than nine, and the youngest is six. Now, the horse I got for sale is seven years old, but is in fine health. She’s got a lot of spirit, that one,” Oscar told her. “Come along, and I’ll show her to you.”

“Thank you,” Helena inclined her head.

Oscar led her around the smithy to the stables. It was quite large, but it was necessary with there being five horses inside of it. The smith led her to the end of the row, where he brought one of the horses out.

It was beautiful. It had a white ‘shield’ in the front, covering the face, shoulders, bottom of the neck, and all four legs. The top of the horse was covered in smooth-edged chestnut colouring patterns, which didn’t reach down to its stomach, apart from the rump.

“This is the last horse I have for sale,” Oscar told her. “I must admit that I was slightly against selling her, but the only merchant I had who could handle her died a month ago.”

“My condolences,” Helena told him.

Oscar nodded with a sad look on his face. “It’s appreciated. In any case, if you have a firm grip she shouldn’t be a problem. She has never had any health issues, either.”

Helena hummed. Reaching for it, she let the horse sniff her hand, before she patted it on the neck. It made her smile.

“How much would you want for her?” the Dragon Rider asked.

“A hundred-and-twenty crowns,” Oscar told her. “I’m sure you’d be able to find a cheaper horse, but not one who will serve you as well as this girl here will.”

“I’m sure,” Helena chuckled. She reached for her pouch and withdrew a handful of crowns. In her first week she had gone to a jeweller and sold a handful of precious gems, as to get some currency in her wallet. It was too bad that the Galleons had spells which prevented them from being melted down, but so far she was not having any shortage of gems, so it was all well and good. Counting the crowns, she handed him them. “Here is a hundred-and-thirty.”

Once again Oscar looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Helena confirmed. “You seem like a good man, and I’m sure an extra ten crowns wouldn’t hurt.”

Ten crowns might not sound like a lot in the mind of someone from Great Britain, but one crown was much more worth than one pound. You could buy a full meal for only a single coin.

“Well, I thank you then, Helena,” Oscar told her. He picked up a saddle that had hung by the side, and quickly saddled the horse. He then handed Helena the tether. “Take good care of her. She has served me well.”

“I will,” Helena promised as she accepted the tether.

“You always keep us in mind when you need a fresh horse, yeah?”

“Of course,” Helena smiled.

\- BWaC -

Brom, Eragon, and Jeod had been successful in their breaking and entering. Eragon had been jumping due to sheer joy as they had entered the house, and even Brom could not hide his smile. They had brought out a map, one that Helena had looked at many times for many an hour, and began to plan their next step. According to the records that the three had copied, the most likely place that the Ra’zac lived was in Dras-Leona. Helena had not even attempted to contribute to the conversation, as she wouldn’t know anything that they didn’t already know. Instead, she had simply listened attentively to their discussion, filing away any and all information about the different cities as the conversation went along.

The next morning found Eragon, Brom, and Helena outside of Jeod’s house, saddling up their horses. It was only an hour past sunrise, but Brom wanted to get going as soon as possible. Neither Helena nor Eragon complained, as it meant that they would meet their counterpart’s dragon sooner rather than later. Helena could also feel Godric getting very excited at the prospect at meeting Saphira, and she could imagine the blue dragon felt likewise about Godric.

“That’s a beautiful horse,” Eragon told her. Helena looked up to see him smiling at her.

“Thank you,” Helena smiled, “Yours too.”

“What is his name?”

“ _Her_ name is Alfsigr,” Helena told him.

“What?” Brom frowned.

“Alfsigr,” Helena repeated. “She was a famous wit- woman from home. But I think I’m just going to call this girl here Allie for short.”

“That’s at least somewhat normal,” Brom commented. Helena ignored him. She instead walked up to Jeod, who stood by the stairs to his house and observed them.

“Goodbye, Jeod,” Helena smiled softly. “Thank you for allowing me to use your library for so long.”

“Oh, you’re most welcome, Helena,” Jeod chuckled with a smile. “It has been a pleasure. You are one exceptional young lady.”

“I hope your business gets saved,” Helena told him sincerely. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“And you, Helen, I wish you good fortunes,” Helena smiled to Jeod’s wife.

“You as well,” Helen returned a soft smile. “I will be quiet in the house without you around.”

With that, she went back to Alfsigr and mounted her. Eragon did the same with Cadoc, as Brom bid Jeod goodbye, before throwing a few slightly crass comments towards Helen. The female Dragon Rider frowned, but didn’t say anything. As soon as Helen had disappeared inside, Brom mounted Snowfire, and the three began trotting out of the city.

As they passed through the gate, Helena couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. She looked behind her at the now retreating gates.

“Are you all right?” Eragon asked her.

“I suppose I am,” she answered and looked away from Teirm and onto Eragon. “Teirm has just become... not home, but as much home as it could be for me here. It helped me get onto my feet again, and get my bearings. I enjoyed being there.”

“Me too,” Eragon answered. “But maybe we can visit it again sometime in the future?”

“Perhaps,” Helena said, unsure. Her future involved fighting Galbatorix, and she wasn’t sure she was going to survive it. Godric rumbled in her mind, but didn’t refute her. They weren’t that kind of people: truth was truth, no matter if you acknowledged it or not.

They had ridden for a few minutes when Eragon turned to Brom. “What are werecats?”

Helena, who had enjoyed her surroundings, looked sharply to Eragon. Had he met Solembum as well?

Brom looked surprised as well. “Why are you so curious about them all of a sudden?”

“Just heard someone mention them in Teirm,” Eragon told the old storyteller. Helena didn’t take her eyes off of the teenager, trying to discern if he was lying. She couldn’t tell. That wasn’t so surprising, as she had known him for less than a week.

“I met one in Teirm,” Helena told them. Both of them looked surprised at her. “Solembum was his name. He kept company with the herbalist.”

“Angela?” Brom asked with a frown.

“That’s her name,” Helena nodded. “We had an... interesting conversation.”

“What was it about?” Eragon asked.

“He told me I wasn’t human,” Helena admitted to them. “Something about my mind being too different and that it betrayed my human guise. I’ve considered that he might be correct in the assumption.”

“You’re different how?” Brom asked of her, beating Eragon to the punch. For once he actually just looked curious.

“Well, the difference between Muggles and Wizardkind is what’s convincing me most.”

“Muggles are what?” Brom sounded confused.

“Non-magic folk,” Eragon answered with a smirk. Brom looked surprised at the boy.

“Right,” Helena chuckled. “Anyway, it isn’t only that witches and wizards can do magic, and that Muggles can’t. But there are creatures that Muggles can’t even _see_. So, I’ve considered that perhaps wizards and witches aren’t quite human, or at least not full-blooded humans.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Brom admitted. “When we make camp tonight, would you allow me to feel your mind to sense the difference this werecat was talking about?” Helena shot him a glare. “Hey, I said _feel_. I won’t go any further into your mind than the surface.”

Helena looked suspiciously at him for a full minute. He kept up eye contact.

“Fine,” Helena finally conceded. “But if you try to do anything, I won’t hesitate to retaliate.” She was pleased to see his look waver just the slightest: clearly her actions in Jeod’s loft had shaken him. While she didn’t want him to be scared of her, it was good to know that _he_ knew he couldn’t just run in circles around her.

“Fine,” Brom grunted out. He then turned to Eragon. “And to answer your question, werecats are mysterious beings, not much unlike elves. They have been in Alagaësia at least as long as we humans have, and they also seem to appear where things are happening.”

“Can they use magic?” Eragon asked curiously.

Brom shrugged. “Perhaps, I’m not sure. In any case, when they talk to you, you should always heed their advice.”

They rode for another few minutes in silence, before Eragon couldn’t take it anymore.

“What is Helgrind?” he asked Brom. By the look of fond exasperation – which he hid as soon as it showed on his face –, it wasn’t unusual for Eragon to be so inquisitive. Helena had gotten a small taste of it the day before in Jeod’s garden, but she hadn’t anticipated it to be quite like this.

“Helgrind can’t quite be explained with words,” Brom told the young Dragon Rider. “It is something you have to experience yourself. You two will get to see Helgrind when we get to Dras-Leona.”

They rode for another hour before Teirm was out of sight. The moment it was, Helena called for Godric, who had been following them from the air. Apparently, Eragon had called Saphira as well, because two large forms, one sapphire and one ruby, shot down from the heavens, down through the cloud cover.

“Whoa girl!” Helena exclaimed as Alfsigr began to panic at the sight of the large lizards. Helena tightened the tethering. “Settle down, girl. Yeah, that’s it. Nothing is going to happen.”

Helena managed to calm down the horse and came to a stop. Brom and Eragon did the same, only without Snowfire and Cadoc panicking – the two equines clearly had gotten used to Saphira. Without the threat of getting tossed off, Helena looked to the sky. She stared with wide eyes and jaw slightly ajar.

The two dragons were beautiful, as they flew around each other playing in the air. Helena felt the pure and utter joy in Godric’s mind as he met Saphira for the first time. She couldn’t help but chuckle as she felt herself getting pushed slightly to the side by Godric’s mind so that he could communicate with Saphira. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider was still connected to Godric, but not enough to be able to hear his conversations.

Helena looked fondly at Godric, before her eyes were drawn to the blue dragon. Like Godric, she was beautiful. Her scales were like gems, and her claws like ivory. She was larger than Godric by a small margin, but, then again, she was about a fortnight older. It wasn’t really something you noticed unless you truly looked for it. As beautiful as she was, in Helena’s opinion, Godric’s ruby colour made him the more beautiful of the two.

‘ _Thank you, Dear One_ ,’ Godric brushed against her mind, as he reconnected fully with her. Helena felt a weight lessen in her chest, that she hadn’t noticed was there, at being able to feel the flow of thoughts and feelings between them again. He felt pride at her words. Helena chuckled: dragons had to be the vainest creatures on the Earth (and Alagaësia) – and that was meant with much fondness.

The last two free dragons flew around each other for another minute, before they descended towards the last two free Riders and their teacher. Their broad wings spread out to decelerate their massive bodies, bathing the ground in red and blue as the sun shone through the membranes. It was quite an intimidating sight: Saphira’s and Godric’s bodies were already incredibly significant on their own, but their wings were about twice the length, if not more, making them look absolutely enormous.

They landed about a dozen metres from each other, and the moment they had folded their wings together, they sat down and observed each other. Helena glanced at Brom and Eragon and saw them look at Godric with wide smiles on their faces. That, in turn, made Helena smile widely as well.

“He is magnificent,” Eragon told Helena with unashamed joy.

“And she is most fierce,” Helena returned the compliment.

“May we speak to him?” Brom asked of her. Helena gave him a confused look.

“Why are you asking me?” she asked, feeling affronted on behalf of Godric. He was more than capable of speaking for himself. “He is his own person, and can decide for himself.”

Brom blinked at her tone. “It is considered polite to ask.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, sure,” Helena answered, feeling like she was caught on the wrong foot. A strange custom she couldn’t help but feel it was.

Brom and Eragon dismounted and moved over to Godric to introduce themselves. Helena’s mouth twitched as she saw the ruby dragon snap his teeth in front of Brom’s face, making the old storyteller flinch.

‘ _Be nice,_ ’ Helena admonishing Godric half-heartedly. He rolled his eyes at her.

The female Dragon Rider looked over at Saphira and found the blue dragon looking expectantly at her. Helena dismounted and walked over to the blue dragon. The witch would admit finding it intimidating to stand in front of Saphira: unlike Godric, Helena didn’t know Saphira. But the witch took a deep settling breath and straightened. She would not cower in front of Saphira.

Saphira lowered her head so it was on a level with Helena’s. For a few minutes all she did was look the witch in the eyes, and Helena returned the favour. Helena tried to keep her stare impassive, showing neither aggression or submission – but, again, no-one had ever accused Helena of being humble, and she knew what she was capable of. After what seemed like an eternity, a mind similar to Godric’s pressed against her own, almost ‘knocking’. Helena smiled at that, and, for lack of a better term, opened up the gates for the dragon.

‘ _So, you are the female my Rider has thought so much about,_ ’ Saphira noted with an undertone of humour. After being used to hearing Godric’s deep yet flowing and musical voice in her head, Saphira’s seemed altogether too light. But somehow it seemed like her. Another difference was also the lack of a British accent, which Godric had inherited from her. While Saphira’s accent, or rather the accent of Alagaësia, wasn’t wholly American, it was the closest comparison Helena could think of.

‘ _I am_ ,’ Helena inclined her head. ‘ _It is an honour to meet you, Saphira. I am overjoyed to find that another of Godric’s kin is alive and well, and out of Galbatorix’s grasp._ ’

Saphira blinked. Another person might’ve responded with something akin to ‘the honour is mine’, but Helena hadn’t expected that from Saphira. She was a dragon and dragons were nothing if not vain and prideful – and understandably so.

‘ _I see you have learned well from Godric_ ,’ Saphira noted.

‘ _I learn from Godric as much as he learns from me,_ ’ Helena agreed.

Saphira blew out a puff of smoke. Helena was curious to notice that it was a lighter grey than Godric’s smoke. She reminded herself to ask Brom of that.

The blue dragon broke eye contact to look at something behind Helena. Helena followed the dragon’s eyes and found that both Brom and Eragon was moving back to their horses. Brom mounted Snowfire, while Eragon stood close by glancing over at them. Brom, being ever as true to himself as he was, shot her an impatient look.

‘ _As much as I would like to continue this talk, I think it would best to wait until later with that,_ ’ Saphira told Helena.

‘ _He is a very impatient man_ ,’ Helena noted. As much as she tried, she couldn’t keep the slight dislike and suspicion that she felt for Brom to flow through her link to Saphira. This caused the female dragon to look back at the witch.

‘ _I hope you won’t hold what he did to you too much against him_ ,’ Saphira told Helena. ‘ _He is an honourable man, and he has saved Eragon more than a few times. He won’t ask for your forgiveness and he won’t apologise for what he has done, but I know that he wished he had handled it differently_.’

Helena glanced back at Saphira. ‘ _I will take your word for it_.’ Saphira blinked once in response, as their connection was cut off.

Turning to Eragon, she told him, “She is quite amazing.”

“So is Godric,” Eragon breathed, a smile permanently plastered on his face. “He talks funny like you do.”

Helena’s eyes widened in surprise at the comment, “Excuse me?”

The male Dragon Rider suddenly looked very much like a deer caught in the headlights. Chuffing sounds emanated from the dragons, which Helena recognised as laughs. Helena wasn’t offended, as she knew she talked differently than the people around the Empire. She was just surprised at the way he had put it. ‘Talks funny’... He could’ve said different or any other synonym.

“I-I mean-,“Eragon gulped.

Helena smiled, easing Eragon’s fears. “We speak like people from England speak, and, yes, the accent and some of the terminology is different than the ones that exist in Alagaësia.”

“Tear my what?” Eragon asked confused.

“Terminology; it means that some of the words that she uses for some things are different than the words that we use,” Brom answered. “Now, hurry up. Unless it has escaped your attention, we are in the middle of a road with two dragons sitting idly to the sides.”

Eragon didn’t hesitate, and climbed up on Saphira. A moment later they were in the air.

Helena felt butterflies in her stomach as she observed the blue dragon and her Rider as they climbed into the air, and broke through the clouds.

Helena missed the feeling of flying, to feel the cold attack your fingers and ears, to feel the wind whip your face and hair, and to go so fast that you can’t breathe. She hadn’t flown with Godric yet, as it had never seemed like the right time. That wasn’t to say that they both hadn’t longed to do it. And now was the time. Therefore, it was with a wide grin spread across her face that she walked up to Godric.

“Are you ready, My Heart?” Helena asked him. Godric hummed loudly, but didn’t respond in her mind but for the rising anticipation. That was all Helena needed: she ran the last few metres to the ruby dragon and climbed up to the hollow space between his shoulders.

Godric got up and spread his wings out as far as they could.

‘ _Ready?_ ’ he asked her, his whole body vibrating in anticipation.

‘ _Let’s go,_ ’ Helena nodded, tightening her hand’s grip on the spike in front of her (which she had quickly charmed to be blunt, as to not have a repeat of what happened when she escaped from Gringotts) and her leg’s grip on Godric’s body.

The ruby dragon did nothing for a moment. And then he jumped into the air, his wings quickly pushing him another two dozen metres up. Helena laughed out loud as she felt the wind whip through her hair while the ground under her feet promptly became but a memory to her. Godric roared with her as they ascended and shot through the air.

It was only after a few seconds that they broke through the cover of clouds and joined Saphira and Eragon. The first sight Helena got of the two, was them making a large loop. They seemed to notice them a moment after, because they quickly flew to them.

Eragon was looking at her with a wide grin, which Helena returned.

‘ _Let’s see who is faster, shall we?_ ’ Helena asked Godric.

Godric hesitated slightly. ‘ _Are you sure you are ready for that?_ ’ He was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to hold onto him and would fall off. But she was adamant about it: she was a Seeker and was used to high speeds.

‘ _I am_ ,’ Helena told Godric. ‘ _And if I by chance should fall off, I can always halt my descent with my magic._ ’ Turning to Eragon, she reached for his mind. The boy hesitated for a moment, but let her in. She sensed surprise coming from him, but ignored it for now. ‘ _Catch us if you can!_ ’ And with that she cut the connection, and urged Godric to fly as fast as he could.

Godric roared and complied, leaving Saphira and Eragon behind quickly.

For hours the four of them flew in the sky above the clouds, safe from prying eyes on the ground. It quickly became apparent that Saphira was the better flier, but in Godric’s defence, he wasn’t used to flying with the extra weight of Helena. That still didn’t lessen their joy, as they wove in and out through each other, laughing and roaring as they did.

It was only at noon that they finally landed by the campfire Brom had set up for lunch. Helena’s hair was a mess, her fingers felt like ice, and her cheeks and nose were red from the cold. And she felt _amazing_. Flying with Godric was so much better than flying with her Firebolt.

Godric hummed when he heard her thoughts, ‘ _As it should be.’_

Godric had felt offence the first time Helena had compared him to ‘a magical piece of tinder’. But after learning just how much she had loved to fly with it, he had begun to accept that Helena meant no offence towards him.

“That was amazing,” Helena said out loud with a wide smile as her teeth clattered. She sat down by the campfire with Eragon and Brom. “I can’t believe we waited until now.”

The male Dragon Rider looked up in surprise. “ _That_ was your first time flying on a dragon?”

“First time on Godric, anyway,” Helena nodded. “I did fly on the back of a wyvern once, but the circumstances were a bit more... hectic.”

Eragon frowned. “What is a wyvern?”

“They’re ancient relatives of the dragons,” Brom answered. “They are less intelligent, and they don’t possess magic like the dragons do. For physical differences, they don’t have front legs, instead only possessing hind legs and a pair of wings.”

“Kind of like a bat,” Helena added, at Eragon’s deepening frown.

The teenage boy nodded. “Are they still around here?”

“Not in Alagaësia,” Brom shook his head. “They were driven out by the increased competition from the dragons before the Dragon Riders had been formed. A stray one bewildering itself into Alagaësia has been seen once every few hundred years, though the last time was almost a millennium ago.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t a feast, just some bread and cheese, but compared to what Helena, Ron, and Hermione had eaten some evenings when they were on the run, it was like the tastiest beef.

“What were you doing when you rode this wyvern?” Eragon asked when he couldn’t take the silence.

Helena snorted. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask _a lot_ of questions?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Brom complained, though a small smile was present on his lips. Eragon pouted and crossed his arms.

“Well, remember how I told you that Galbatorix isn’t the first evil person I have fought against?” Helena asked as she took another bite of her bread.

“Not that you have gone into more detail about it,” Brom commented disgruntled, “but, yes, this Tom Riddle person.”

Helena nodded. “He had an obsession with becoming immortal and escaping death. He came close by using some extremely dark magic, which splits your soul and seals the fractured parts away. If you die, then the soul which was sealed away would keep you from moving on.”

Both Brom and Eragon looked sickened.

“That is some _very_ dark magic,” Brom told her, his eyes hard.

“It is,” Helena said, disgusted. “I needed to read about the magic to learn how to destroy the Horcruxes – that is what the sealed pieces of soul are named. The process is worse than you can imagine. I wasn’t able to eat for a full day after that.” Helena shuddered. “Anyway, one of these Horcruxes was hidden away in an ancient bank vault, and my friends and I had to break into the bank to get it. We got in alright, but were discovered, which prevented us from escaping as easily as we had entered. There was a wyvern guarding the caverns, so we released it and rode it out.”

Brom snorted. “Well, you’re nothing if not gutsy; I have to give you that.”

“Yeah, well,” Helena shrugged with a chuckle. “You have to risk some to gain some. Though I would prefer something a bit more peaceful than that, I don’t want to wake up one day to discover that I have lived so carefully that I might as well not have lived at all.”

“Those are some wise words,” Brom gave her. Helena nodded at that.

To the side, Eragon had gone quiet, and sat observing the two. He sat grinning widely as they almost had a civilised conversation. Helena rolled her eyes at him.

“Brom, I have a question,” it came from Helena after a few seconds of silence. “The Oath-Breaker is one-hundred-and-thirty-three years old. Has he extended his life in similar ways that Tom did? Or is it a part of being a Rider – and if so, just how long-lived are they, we?”

The question had haunted her for some time. It had bothered her at first when she had read about the Dragon Riders and Galbatorix. The Black King had to be over a century old, if he had first lived with the Riders, then betrayed them, and later ruled over the Empire for a hundred years. And, yet, people around here spoke as if he was still a very real threat, when he should be an old man by now. Even if he were like witches and wizards, he would be past his prime.

“The Riders are immortal,” Brom told her bluntly. Eragon looked away, clearly not comfortable with the subject. Helena sat stunned, and if she weren’t more controlled, her mouth would’ve hung off its hinges. “Though, you can still die from illness or injury, you will mostly stay untouched by time.”

“I see...” Helena breathed out.

Immortality... It was such a large concept. Helena wasn’t sure if she liked it. She had prided herself quite a bit at being a mortal after Tom’s immortality mania. And yet here she was, having gained it without even trying. It was at least a comfort to think that she was still able to die – it wasn’t the kind of immortality that Tom had wanted. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Helena ate the rest of the lunch in silence, and she didn’t speak much the rest of the day – to Eragon and Brom or to Godric. And they respected it. It wasn’t as if she was cutting herself off from Godric: her thoughts and feelings still flowed through the link. But Godric refrained from commenting on them, having realised that this was something Helena needed to come to terms with on her own.

Again, just when she thought she was getting a handle on things, new information was added to the game which turned everything upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, so I just managed to squeeze this chapter out today. Again, I have corrected some grammar and reworded some sentences, but English isn’t my first language, so there must be more mistakes. No new scenes were written, but a few places existing scenes were extended.  
> Some of you might recognise the dialogue of Oscar Fredericksson. It is indeed from The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim. I love that game, and have played it for many hours. I thought it would be fun to give a slight nod that way. I hope you didn’t mind.  
> Synthesis


	6. Trust Begets Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have personal experience with that, have you?” Brom asked sarcastically as Eragon mouthed ‘phoenix’ with a confused frown.  
> Helena looked at him. “Yes, I do. I killed one when I was twelve. Stabbed it through the brain from its mouth, but got caught on one of its fangs.” She extended her right arm, showing the scar on her underarm which was still very visible.  
> The two looked at her in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

”What are you writing?” Eragon asked of her as he sat down beside her. Helena glanced up; he was looking down at the journal she was writing in. His brow was creased in a confused frown, and in the green-tinted light under the leaves of the trees, Helena couldn’t help but think that it made him look quite mysterious and exotic – like the elves of Muggle literature. Her lips twitched at the thought.

“Nothing in particular,” Helena admitted with a shrug. “Just my thoughts in general. It’s a habit of mine, and I’ve been writing in journals, almost obsessively, since I was eleven.” The witch-turned-Dragon Rider smiled at the memory of receiving her first journal; it had been a Christmas gift from Hermione. “Writing my thoughts down seems to be the only way to give me peace of mind sometimes.”

“Yes… but _what_ are you writing?” Eragon asked again, confusion evident in his voice.

Helena wasn’t sure what he was on about at first, but quickly figured it out when she looked down onto the pages of her journal. She wasn’t writing in the Latin alphabet which Eragon had spent the last week learning – though it naturally wasn’t called the Latin alphabet here –, but the oldest known runes known to Wizardkind. It wasn’t like she was writing in a different language, because she wasn’t. She was still writing in English, just not with the Latin alphabet. That might sound strange, but you could compare it to writing in Japanese with the Latin alphabet instead of the Japanese kanji.

“Oh,” Helena laughed. “They are runes, the oldest known to my kind. They’re quite a mystery, honestly. They are the first magical alphabet, and, according to research, it just _appeared_ everywhere. Every known kind of runes, at least on Earth, can be traced back to this alphabet.”

“Can I see?” Eragon asked a bit shyly.

“Sure,” Helena smiled softly and handed him her journal.

He looked very intrigued as he gently flipped through the pages and observed the foreign shapes. There were _some_ similarities to the Latin alphabet, but it was in much more flowing lines and fluid shapes. He let his fingers run lightly over some of the pages, as if he would be able to feel the different runic letters.

As Helena observed the other Dragon Rider as he examined her journal, it wasn’t long before her thoughts flowed elsewhere.

It was noon the day after Helena and her new companions had left Teirm for Dras-Leona. According to Brom, the first leg of the journey would take some time as they needed to practically climb a good portion of the Spine to reach a mountain pass. Had they been able to travel on the roads, it wouldn’t take terribly long, but due to Godric and Saphira that wasn’t an option. Had Helena and Godric decided to travel by themselves, they would’ve just flown. Brom was with them, however, and both Saphira and Godric were too young to carry two riders for an extended distance, so they would travel by horseback.

Helena’s first flight with Godric had been like coming home. She loved flying, and had since she had flown for the first time at her flying lesson in First Year. Flying with Godric was nothing like flying on a broomstick, and not even like flying on a thestral or a hippogriff or even a wyvern; it was far better. Helena hadn’t taken Godric’s scales into consideration, however, and now her thighs were full of abrasions. They weren’t quite bloodied, but it wasn’t far off. Godric had felt awful, but Helena had waved his worries away. Sadly, it meant that until Brom taught her how to weave a saddle out of leather, she was grounded.

The timing hadn’t been the best. With the news that Helena had all but stumbled upon immortality, she could really have used the peace and quiet being in the sky brought. Instead, she had brooded most of the first day away from Teirm, and quite a bit of the that morning as well. Godric hadn’t taken long to step in and had given an ear lashing that would do Molly proud. Now, it wasn’t like that she had suddenly gotten over it or had even accepted the fact that she had become immortal, unfading, but Godric had raised some fair points: why worry about it, when they might not survive her former normal lifespan of two centuries? Whether or not she ever got used to her new-found immortality didn’t matter at the moment, as, either way, she wouldn’t be able to live in peace from Galbatorix. If she and Godric survived the upcoming war – because, yes, she was in no doubt that war was coming –, then Godric had allowed her to freak out to her tiny heart’s content, but not a day before that.

“Your writing is very beautiful,” Eragon admitted, snapping Helena out of musings. “My writing looks like crows’ feet more than anything else. Your writing could be from one of Jeod’s books.”

“Thanks,” Helena told him, as he handed the journal back. “And don’t worry; if you keep practising, you’ll get there as well, eventually. And remember that you’ve been writing for only a week, whereas I have been writing since I was about six or so years old. Even when writing with quill and ink I have more than a few years of experience under my belt.”

‘ _And it’s unfair to compare yourself to Helena,_ ’ Godric told them playfully. ‘ _She’s used quite a lot of time in her Fifth Year of schooling practising her handwriting, as she wanted to become a teacher_.’

Eragon looked up surprised. “You wanted to become a teacher?” Helena mentally winced at that, and Godric immediately felt bad for unintentionally revealing something so personal. Because, yes, it was personal for Helena.

“That was the plan before I appeared here.”

Thankfully Helena was saved from elaborating when Brom returned with two hares and a fox. The witch quickly offered her hand in helping prepare them for cooking, as to avoid further conversation with Eragon for now. Brom had looked surprised that she knew how to, no doubt because she was a ‘lady’. But she had lived on the run for almost a year, and you don’t go on doing something like that, without learning a few survival skills.

“Brom?” Eragon spoke up half an hour later as they ate around the campfire. The silver-haired man looked up with muted interest. “I need to talk to you about something. I originally wanted to do it shortly after we arrived in Teirm, but…” The male Dragon Rider glanced over at Helena, and blushed slightly. Helena was amused, but Brom seemed to scowl at the clear display of Eragon’s infatuation.

“Talk about what?” Brom asked in his own gruff way, and bit into the thigh of one of the rabbits.

Eragon hesitated slightly. That got Helena’s attention, as Eragon really wasn’t shy about asking about things. If the other teenager hesitated, then the subject had to be of a more serious character than it normally was.

“There are a lot of things happening around me, most of which I don’t understand,” Eragon started slowly. “I have accepted it for this long because I trust you, but I think it’s time I get some answers. Who are these ‘friends’ that you spoke to Jeod about? What exactly did you steal in Gil’ead? And what is this tuatha du orothim that I have to pass?”

Eragon spoke calmly, but he was fidgeting with his hands, and was struggling to keep eye contact with Brom. The storytellers face had taken on a hard look, which only made it worse. The two dragons, lying behind their Riders, were observing the conversation with interest. And then there was Helena who sat, looking confused.

‘ _I think that we’re missing something,_ ’ Helena said to Godric unnecessarily.

‘ _You think?_ ’ Godric snorted. It made Helena shoot the ruby dragon a look.

‘ _Leave the sarcasm to me, Godric,_ ’ the Dragon Rider told the dragon in amusement. ‘ _Really, it doesn’t suit you_.’ The dragon just grunted.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you Brom, because I do,” Eragon told Brom after having gathered some courage, “but after all that has happened, I think I deserve some answers. _Especially_ after what has happened. In one week, everything has changed.” The male Dragon Rider glanced briefly at Helena, before looking back at Brom.

“You’ve been eavesdropping,” Brom half-accused him. Helena half expected Eragon to respond with _‘I ain't been droppin' no eaves sir, honest’._ Light chuffing sounds came from Godric, though the two males ignored the laughter for the time being.

“Only once,” Eragon admitted, some shame flowing from him.

Brom grunted. “I can see that you still haven’t learned how to act properly.” He pulled his beard thoughtfully. “What makes you think that these things concern you, either of you?”

Eragon bit his lip lightly. “Not anything, really, but I’ve put my life in your hands because I trust you. Is it so much to ask that you repay the favour by trusting me a bit?”

“It is,” Brom answered without a beat. He looked at Helena. “Especially as little Lady Dragon Rider here hasn’t earned my trust yet.” Helena bristled at the name, but didn’t comment further on it. One look at her would make it clear, however, that she hadn’t cared for the way he had referred to her. She wasn’t sure whether she was fortunate or unfortunate that neither Brom nor Eragon was looking at her. Brom continued, “And this really can’t wait?”

Eragon sighed. “If you _really_ insist, then it can. As I said, _I trust you_. It’s just a bit strange that you _coincidentally_ hid in Carvahall, where Saphira’s egg _coincidentally_ appeared before me, _and_ that you _coincidentally_ know so much about dragons. I have considered it a great deal this last week, and the more I have thought about it, the less it seems plausible that it was all a matter of chance. There are many more hints, like you knowing anything at all about the Ra’zac, and about the Riders; it’s much more than just any old storyteller should know. I’ve even been wondering if you might’ve had something to do about Saphira’s egg appearing in the Spine.”

Brom seemed to consider his words, and then sighed. “This wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t so damn stubborn and suspicious, you do have a point…” Brom looked back at Helena. “Much has changed, and I need to adapt.”

“Okay, you need to stop that,” Helena cut into the conversation. Her arms were crossed, and a scowl present on her face. “I think we’ve established plenty that you don’t trust me, and if we’re being candid, I don’t trust you either. But you need to stop indirectly referring to me, when I’m quite literally right in front of you.” Brom’s face hardened, making Helena sigh. “Listen, trust doesn’t come easy, but that doesn’t mean we have to be hostile towards each other while it develops. Whether we like it or not, we have to work together now. Trust begets trust, so tell me what I have to do to prove that I, at least, mean you no harm, and I’ll do it. Perhaps you want me to make a Vow? Because I will do it if you ask it of me.”

“Vow? What Vow?” Eragon asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Brom also looked confused, but only for a moment. Then he paled drastically.

“You will do no such thing!” Brom scolded.

Helena raised an eyebrow. “So, you know what it means to make the Vow?”

“I have an educated guess,” Brom answered. “We have a similar thing here, as well.”

“What are you two talking about?” Eragon asked, put out at being left out of the conversation.

“It’s-.“

“-Not something you’re ready to learn yet,” it came from Brom firmly.

Helena looked oddly at Brom for a moment. He looked harshly at her, almost daring her to go against him. A part of her felt like doing it just to be a brat, but it would go quite against the little rant she had just thrown at him. There was also the fact that she didn’t like having secrets kept from her or to keep secrets – she blamed Dumbledore for that –, but... Trust begets trust and all that.

“Very well, we’ll do this your way,” she conceded with a deep sigh. When Eragon frowned heavily and was clearly just about to argue, Brom raised his hand.

“Peace,” Brom told him. “You get what you want: I’ll answer your questions. Most of them anyway.” When Eragon was about to argue again, Brom beat him to the punch. “It’s not because I’m unwilling to tell you, but because this contains secrets which are not mine to share. I won’t reveal them without their consent. You will have to talk to the others involved to know the rest.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Eragon conceded. “Please tell what you can.”

“All right,” Brom breathed in and out heavily. “There is a war waging in Alagaësia between the Empire and the Varden. Their conflict reaches far beyond random armed clashes. They are locked in an enormous power struggle. A struggle revolving around you, and which will also revolve around Helena when word of her existence gets out.”

So far there was no news for Helena. She already knew as much from Jeod’s library. But Eragon, on the other hand, looked very shocked.

“Me?” Eragon breathed in disbelief. “But… That can’t be. That’s impossible. I have nothing to do with the Varden or the Empire.”

“Not yet,” Brom grunted. He glanced at Helena. “You don’t look surprised.”

Helena shrugged morbidly. “This is not the first war I have been involved in, remember?”

“What do the Varden and the Empire want with me? With us?” Eragon asked.

“It doesn’t matter if one has control of an immeasurable amount of land, if one can’t control what takes place upon it,” Helena answered for Brom. “The land itself is not what is valuable. It is what is upon it – animals, ores, crops, and people.”

“Helena is correct,” Brom continued. “Right now, the Varden and the Empire aren’t fighting to control the land and its inhabitants. They are fighting to control the next generation of Dragon Riders. After that, then they can focus on the land.”

Helena’s face hardened. “I will not be controlled. I have had enough of that in my life.”

“Control might be the wrong word to use in that context,” Brom soothed her, surprisingly enough. Then he made a face, “Well, at least for the Varden’s side of the conflict. The Varden wants the Dragon Riders’ help to take away Galbatorix’s crown and throne, and they want their help, _your_ help, in keeping peace over the land.”

“And what does Galbatorix want with us?” Eragon asked, as if he was almost afraid to get the answer.

Brom shrugged. “I think no-one but the Black King knows what he has planned. It is pretty safe to say, however, that it won’t be pleasant if he gets his hand on you two. Not for the people of Alagaësia, and not for you.”

Silence reigned for about half a minute. Helena was taking the information they had received in stride. As she had said to Brom, this wasn’t the first war she had been in (though, she was determined to handle this one better). In addition to that, while she was far from all-knowing, she felt confident that she had a good grip on many things due to Jeod’s library. If she ever had the chance, she would make sure the bibliophile knew just how much he had helped her.

Eragon didn’t seem to have as easy a time to process what they had been told. Helena felt for him. She was just about his age when Dumbledore had told her the prophecy involving her and Tom Riddle. But perhaps Eragon felt a bit worse: Helena had been fighting against Tom Riddle since she had re-entered the Wizarding World. Eragon had been a farmer’s boy up until Saphira hatched for him a few months ago. That, and there wasn’t a conveniently placed table covered in knickknacks to destroy.

“Okay, yeah, I have a lot of questions,” Eragon broke the silence after a minute, his voice having lost some of its strength. A conflicted expression was on his face when he looked up at Brom. The storyteller had patiently waited on the young Rider to gather his thoughts, and had brought his pipe out in the meanwhile. “But first, there is something I don’t understand: You told me that all the Riders of the old Order were slain, but for the Forsworn who joined Galbatorix. As far as I know, they’re all dead now.” Brom nodded in confirmation. “And in Carvahall you told me that no-one knows if there are any dragons left in Alagaësia-.“

“What about the dragon eggs in Galbatorix’s possession?” Helena asked, interrupting, remembering back to when Brom had rambled while interrogating her. Both Brom and Eragon looked sharply at her, the former looking angry and the latter looking shocked. “Which by the looks on your faces, you haven’t told Eragon about yet… I apologise.”

Brom grunted.

“I lied about the dragons,” Brom told the male Dragon Rider. “While, yes, all the Riders are gone, Galbatorix saved three dragon eggs when he slaughtered the Order. Since Saphira hatched, he only has two.”

“But that means that at any moment the Empire can get two new Riders on their side,” Eragon realised, paling. Helena had been the same when she had realised the ramifications.

“Exactly,” Brom nodded pointedly. “But – and this is a big but – dragons don’t just hatch to anyone.”

“The dragon chooses the Rider,” Helena said out loud, to no one in particular. It was much the same way that a wand chose the wizard or witch.

Brom nodded again. “You have to remember that Galbatorix has had the eggs for nigh a century now, and I can assure you that he has tried to get them to hatch for at least seven decades.”

“But the possibility of them hatching is still there,” Helena concluded with a sigh. “And mathematics dictates that the more people Galbatorix present to the eggs, the higher the chance is – or rather risk in this case – that they will hatch.”

“Correct,” Brom agreed. “There is a deadly race underway: Galbatorix is desperately trying to find the humans which the dragons in the eggs will hatch for, and the Varden is using all their resources on killing the candidates or stealing the eggs.”

“Back up a moment,” Eragon suddenly said. “If Galbatorix had the eggs, how did Saphira’s egg appear before me in the Spine? Can dragons use magic even before they are hatched?”

“They can’t,” Brom shook his head. Then he sighed. “There is another chapter of this story, one which took place long before either of you were born. When I was much younger, and only half as smart as I am today, I hated the Empire – for reasons I will keep to myself – and wanted to hurt it in any possible way I could. That hatred eventually led me to a young man by the name of Jeod Tobiasson, who claimed to have found an ancient book which showed a secret passage into Galbatorix’s citadel. I quickly and eagerly introduced Jeod to the Varden – they are my ‘friends’ –, and together we arranged for the eggs to be stolen.”

_The Varden!_

Godric raised his head and reared it back in surprise. Helena’s eyes widened and looked over at the elderly man. She had considered the possibility when he had mentioned the Varden under her interrogation, but had dismissed it; after all, it was common knowledge that the Black King gaining a new Rider would be hard on the morale of the resistance movement. Her lips twitched –  who would’ve thought that he would be connected to the Varden? And, by the way he had told the tale, and the casual way he had referred to them, he clearly wasn’t just some grunt or common spy.

‘ _I guess we have our way into the Varden_ ,’ Godric noted excitedly.

‘ _Don’t get too ahead of yourself,_ ’ Helena replied as she frowned. ‘ _As of right now, Brom doesn’t trust us. He isn’t likely to take us to his ‘friends’ before he knows we won’t just slaughter them all._ ’

‘ _But you’re a Dragon Rider, and I’m a dragon,_ ’ Godric retorted, slight confusion being present in his mind due to her answer. ‘ _The old two-legs said it himself: the Varden is desperate for a dragon and a Rider._ ’

‘ _He has to be extra careful **because** we are a dragon and a Rider,_ ’ Helena explained. ‘ _It would be disastrous if he leads an enemy dragon to the Varden._ ’

“But something went wrong,” Brom continued, interrupting Helena’s and Godric’s mental conversation. “The thief only got his hand on one of the three eggs, and instead of delivering it to the Varden, as he was supposed to, he fled. One of the largest manhunts in the history of the land then took place, with Varden and the Empire racing to get to the thief first, whilst trying to kill the competition.” Brom got a faraway look on his face, as he remembered back who knows how many years. “Jeod and I were but two of a small army sent out by the Varden. We were racing against the Ra’zac and Morzan, the last of the Forsworn and the King’s most supreme servant.”

“Morzan!” Eragon exclaimed, cutting of Brom. The silver-haired man shot an annoyed look on the young Dragon Rider. “But it was he who betrayed the Order to Galbatorix!”

“So?” Helena said, more than slightly bitterly. “Dragon Riders are immortal, remember?”

Eragon looked over at her. “Right…”

“It’s true that Morzan was old,” Brom nodded. “But he was strong, fast, and fierce. He was among the first who joined Galbatorix, and by far the most loyal of the Black King’s servants. I am not ashamed to admit that the race for the egg became personal for me, as there was some bad blood between us – and don’t ask, because I won’t answer that question. Regardless… The egg was finally located in Gil’ead, and I rushed there as fast as I could, as did Morzan. We fought. It was a long and terrible fight, but in the end I killed him. During the clash I got separated from Jeod. There was no time to find him, as there were still thousands of Empire soldiers and spies looking for the egg. I brought the egg to the Varden, who asked me to train the new Rider once the egg had hatched. I agreed, and decided to hide myself away in Carvahall, where I had been many times before, until the time that the Varden would contact me. They never did. And I believe that answers your second question.”

Eragon nodded slowly. “But how did Saphira’s egg appear to me in the Spine? And what about Godric? Did the Varden steal the last two eggs from the Black King?”

“That’s not likely,” Brom snorted bitterly. “The King has left the two remaining eggs so well guarded, that it would be suicide even to consider trying to steal them. No, I’m pretty confident that Saphira’s egg was the egg that I stole those many years ago. Since I haven’t been contacted by the Varden, my guess is that the person assigned to be the guardian of the egg was attacked by the Empire, and thus tried to send the egg to me by magical means. Clearly, something went awry.”

“And what about Godric?” Eragon asked before Helena had the chance. If dragon eggs were as rare as she had gotten the impression that they were, then it just raised even more questions about the appearance of Godric’s egg.

“That… is more complicated,” Brom admitted.

“I’ve been considering it myself,” Helena decided to share with her new travelling-companions. “I believe that whoever was responsible for transporting me here, was also responsible for the appearance of Godric’s egg. Whoever they are, they have to be extremely powerful, certainly powerful enough to protect an egg from Galbatorix. And I wouldn’t put it past them to be able to actually steal one of Galbatorix’s eggs from right under his nose.”

Brom considered her words for a moment, before shaking his head. “While I agree that they certainly must be capable enough to do it, I don’t think Godric is from one of the two eggs left behind in the Black King’s possession. When Saphira’s egg was stolen, the King went on a small rampage. Everyone knew _something_ of value had been stolen. Trust me, if yet another egg had been stolen, we would know.” He seemed to mull something over for a second, before looking up at the ruby dragon. “Dragons are supposed to be somewhat aware of their surroundings, even before they hatch. Do you remember anything?”

Helena looked curiously over at her partner. He had closed his eyes, and Helena felt him rummage through his memories. Of course, she knew he would’ve said something if he knew, but he might not have been aware that he knew.

‘ _I remember feeling safe,_ ’ Godric told them after a few moments. ‘ _Nothing else. My first clear memory of something else, is when Helena found me._ ’

“Of course,” Helena said wryly. “If he remembered, it would’ve been too easy.”

Brom chuckled. “I guess. Although, the feeling of safety pretty much confirms that Godric isn’t one of the eggs left behind.”

The three of them sat in silence for a while, thinking. Helena stared into the flames of the campfire, letting her thoughts roam wide and free. Things were speeding up. She had had the privilege of being left mostly in peace since she arrived in Alagaësia, having had no commitments to anyone but Godric. But ever since she bumped into the two she sat eating with, the world had been speeding up again. She wasn’t unused to such speeds, but she found herself struggling to keep up after having been so… placid for so long.

“Have you contacted the Varden about me?” Eragon finally asked.

“I have,” Brom inclined his head. “And I’m sure they would want me to bring you to them as fast as possible.”

“Will you?” Eragon asked, being slightly on the defensive.

“Not yet, I won’t.”

“But why not,” Eragon sounded confused, “it has to be a lot safer for a Rider to be within the Varden instead of chasing the Ra’zac around the Empire.”

Helena couldn’t stop the snort. “Not bloody likely.”

Eragon just looked even more confused. “Why?”

“Politics,” Helena answered with a grimace. “Believe me; you don’t want yourself involved before you can handle it. And, sorry, but just by spending these few days with you, I can tell you that you are _not_ ready. They would tear into you as a sphinx would tear into a simpleton.”

Eragon flushed, this time in anger. “I’m not-.“

“Helena is correct,” Brom cut him off. Both teenagers looked at him in surprise. “The Varden are a dangerous people, make no mistake of that. The moment you two step into their world, you will be cast into their politics. Their leaders might send you on dangerous missions just because they can, missions that you might not be strong enough to complete without hurting yourselves seriously. Out here I at least don’t have to worry about anyone poisoning your water.”

Helena felt additional surprise, on top of the fact that he had agreed with her. She did not miss how he had included her in his little speech there. She smiled softly. Even if he didn’t show it, he was concerned for her – if not for anything but for the reason that she was a Dragon Rider. For now, that was enough.

“Besides,” Brom continued with a smile directed towards Eragon. “Chasing the Ra’zac keeps you happy. And they are just as much enemies of the Varden, and humankind in general, as they are yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Helena spoke up, bringing their attention to her. “But what are the Ra’zac? I know that they are strange beings and that they are dangerous, but neither of you has actually explained to me what they are.”

“The Ra’zac are one of several ancient races believed to have followed the humans from across the sea,” Brom told her.  “They are predators, and their prey is humans. In every area where humans are weak, they are strong. The Dragon Riders killed most of them, but since the Fall, they have made a minor comeback. The two Ra’zac which killed Garrow are servants of Galbatorix.”

“They are monsters,” Eragon bit out in simmering anger.

“Are they non-beings?” Helena asked surprised.

“Non-being?” it came from Brom.

“You don’t know?” Helena asked with a quirked eyebrow. At the shake of his head, she explained, “A non-being is a class of magical creatures. They are amortal, and are neither born and cannot be truly killed: they are created from and feed on human emotions, so new ones will always be created. They grow kind of like fungi, in places where there is decay. I’m asking because the way you describe it – that there were only a few of the Ra’zac when the Riders were around, but that they have somehow made a comeback – sound a bit like that.”

“Monsters that they may be, they are beings,” Brom answered. “They have a life cycle, and they can die like any human.”

“How do you go up against a thing which can’t be killed?” Eragon asked in a mix of curiosity and fearfulness.

“You don’t,” Helena answered bluntly. “But witches and wizards have invented spells that can drive them off. One kind is a Patronus Charm, which repels dementors. They feed off of human happiness, and can consume a person’s soul – so not a thing you want hanging around. Believe me.”

“ _Consume a person’s soul!?_ ” Eragon exclaimed aghast.

“We are getting off track here,” Brom cut in, though looked just as disturbed. Helena didn’t blame them. Brom turned to Eragon. “To answer your last question; the tuatha du orothim is the first part of your education. It roughly translates to ‘tempering the fool's wisdom’. I’m responsible to get you two through it.”

“So, you’ll train me?” Helena asked surprised.

“Girl, you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t intended to,” Brom answered roughly. “Though you’ll have to settle with training in duelling with a branch until we get you a proper sword. Well, you’ll have to train with a branch for a while either way.

“I have a sword,” Helena answered. Without saying another word, Helena grabbed her bag and stuck her whole arm into it. Ignoring the looks she was getting from Brom and Eragon, she grabbed the handle of Gryffindor’s sword and retrieved it. Seeing the looks of awe on both of Brom’s and Eragon’s faces was almost comical.

“May I?” Brom asked. Helena didn’t answer, but simply handed him the sword. Brom brought it to his eyes and scrutinised it with great care. “Is it made of silver?”

“It is,” Helena nodded.

“But silver is a soft metal,” Eragon frowned. “It wouldn’t serve well to make a sword of silver.”

“It’s goblin-made,” Helena explained. “It was created with magic. It only takes in what makes it stronger. Oh, you should probably be careful not to get cut: it’s coated in basilisk venom. It won’t poison anyone you don’t want to poison, but seeing as you don’t have any experience handling it… Just don’t cut yourself.”

Brom paled, as Eragon looked confused again.

“What is a basilisk?” the male Dragon Rider asked.

“A snake,” Helena shrugged.

“Try ‘the deadliest snake in the world’,” Brom breathed out, regaining some of the colour in his face. “Apart from dragons, it is probably the most dangerous creature to roam the lands.”

“Oh, so you have them here as well?” Helena asked curiously.

“Not in Alagaësia anymore, thank the gods,” Brom answered. “But, yes, they exist.”

“How could a snake be almost as dangerous as dragons?” Eragon asked, amused.

“Well, it can grow up to twenty metres long, its incisors being as thick as your fist,” Helena answered, putting up her hand to illustrate it to Eragon. “Plus, it can kill you just by looking you in the eyes. And if that doesn’t kill you, its venom will. The only known cure is phoenix tears.”

“Have personal experience with that, have you?” Brom asked sarcastically as Eragon mouthed ‘phoenix’ with a confused frown.

Helena looked at him. “Yes, I do. I killed one when I was twelve. Stabbed it through the brain from its mouth, but got caught on one of its fangs.” She extended her right arm, showing the scar on her underarm which was still very visible.

The two looked at her in horror.

Rolling the sleeve down again, she continued, “I would’ve died too, if Fawkes, the phoenix companion of my teacher, hadn’t been there.”

“Just what kind of messed up life have you lived?” Eragon asked her, not able to take his eyes off of her now clothed forearm.

“It was war,” Helena answered seriously.

“But you were just a child,” Eragon argued.

“Are the children of Alagaësia somehow spared the horrors that go on here?” Helena asked of him rhetorically.

Neither Eragon nor Brom responded to that. Brom handed her back the sword, and they went back to eating in silence. Eragon was shooting her some looks throughout the meal, and looked like he wanted to ask her something several times, but never gathered the courage actually to ask.

‘ _If he acts like this already now, I can’t image how he will react when he knows the whole story_ ,’ Helena commented bitterly.

‘ _If he can’t handle it, he doesn’t deserve you_ ,’ Godric sniffed.

Helena shot him a look. ‘ _It has nothing to do with deserving me or not. He is the only other Dragon Rider apart from Galbatorix, and the only one who will be able to understand what we’ll be going through._ ’

Godric just grunted. ‘ _If he can’t handle your life’s story, then he wouldn’t be able to help you anyway. Besides, you have me. You don’t need him._ ’

Helena looked bemused at him. ‘ _Godric, are you jealous?_ ’

‘ _Don’t be absurd_ ,’ Godric answered, shooting smoke out of his nostrils. _‘I have nothing to be jealous of the two-legs for._ ’

“So…” Eragon started as they were packing the small camp up twenty minutes later. “What will happen now?”

Brom stood up. “Now we hunt the Ra’zac. By the time we make it to Dras-Leona in a six weeks’ time, Helena should at least be decent with a sword, and I should have a rough idea of just what you can do with magic.” He said the last part as he looked at her, and she nodded gratefully back. “After that… you two need to make a decision.”

“Whether or not to join the Varden,” Helena said.

“Can’t it wait some more?” Eragon asked tiredly. Then he looked startled over at Saphira, who was growling lowly. "Right.”

“If you are successful in killing the Ra’zac, the only ways to escape the wrath of Galbatorix is to join the Varden, flee to Surda, or to grovel at the Black King’s feet and join him,” Brom told the male Dragon Rider straight out. That was a quality Helena appreciated in the old storyteller: he didn’t beat around the bush. “Even if you don’t manage to kill the Ra’zac, you will have to make a choice sooner or later.”

Helena already knew what she wanted to do. She and Godric wanted to fight the King, and the best way at the moment seemed to join the Varden – or at least declare herself and Godric on their side of the conflict. But Eragon… he was still conflicted. She wasn’t blind to his infatuation with her, and she knew that if she declared that she would join the Varden, it would influence him. She would not do that. This had to be Eragon’s – and Saphira’s – own choice.

Brom looked knowingly at her. She looked away.

“You still haven’t told us how you know so much about dragons,” Eragon pointed out. Helena hid a snort. He hadn’t even tried to make it look like he wasn’t changing subjects.

“No, I haven’t, have I?” Brom answered amusedly. “That will have to wait for another time.”

The rest of the small camp was packed within minutes, and Eragon took off on Saphira, Godric not far behind them. The ruby dragon had looked forlornly at her, and she had returned his look. She wanted to fly again as well, but without a saddle, she would hurt herself on his scales. She would pester Brom to teach her how to make a saddle as soon as possible, so she could get into the air again.

On the ground, Helena rode on Alfsigr beside Brom. Cadoc was tied to Snowfire, and followed after them as they rode. By how calm the horse was, it was clear that this wasn’t the first time. That wasn’t a surprise, as, of course, Eragon would spend as much time as possible flying. Helena knew she would.

“Thank you for not declaring that you want to join the Varden back there,” Brom said after half an hour.

Helena looked over at him. “It’s his decision alone. I can see the crush he has on me. I don’t want to influence him.”

“Crush… I’m guessing that means something akin to infatuation?” Brom asked. When she nodded, he laughed lightly. “Rather fitting, if I do say so myself.”

“Indeed,” Helena chuckled. She sighed. “And about the Varden… I don’t know if I want to join them outright. Godric and I want to fight Galbatorix, and fighting with the Varden seems to be the best way of doing that. But I really don’t want to get involved in their politics. During the war back home, I kept being used to get corrupt people into positions of power, where after I was discarded and slandered. I want to fight Galbatorix, but I don’t want to go through that again.”

Brom looked over at her passively. Helena could all but see the millions of thoughts which ran through his head. She didn’t say anything, letting him come to his conclusions on his own.

“You weren’t just another soldier in that war, were you?” Brom finally asked.

“No,” Helena sighed. “I wasn’t. I was dragged into the centre-stage of a war, which I wanted nothing to do with. And all because of one man’s desire for immortality and obsession with blood purity.”

“Blood purity?” Brom asked with a frown.

“It’s nonsense,” Helena scoffed. “As I’ve told, on Earth the human population could be sorted into two groups: Magicals, meaning Wizardking, and non-magicals, meaning Muggles. Unlike in Alagaësia where anyone with enough willpower and training has the chance of being able to learn at least a bit of magic, on Earth it was something you were born with. If one wasn’t born as a witch or wizard, one couldn’t become one more than they could suddenly gain the ability to fly. Most magicals are born of a witch and a wizard, but once in a while a magical is born to non-magical parents. They are called Muggleborns.”

“Let me guess: the magicals born to magical parents are thought superior to those born to these ‘Muggles’?” Brom guesses wryly.

“Far from everyone thinks that, but a great number of ancient and noble families believe just that,” Helena said disgusted. “It’s pure dragon dung, of course. My best friend is a Muggleborn, and she is the brightest witch of her age. I might be more powerful, but she is… brilliant doesn’t even begin to describe it. Sadly, not everyone sees it that way. For many of the ancient families, the ‘pure-bloods’ – those who can trace their lineage back several generations without finding any Muggle blood – look down on Muggleborns, and to some lesser degree half-bloods – those who have one or more Muggle ancestors in the last four generations.”

“Are you a pure-blood or half-blood?”

“Half-blood,” Helena answered proudly. Her problem with the ancient families wasn’t that they were proud of their heritage, as she saw no harm in it; Helena only started getting worried when they began thinking less of those not like them. She herself was proud of her heritage – both of her heritages. “My mother was a Muggleborn. She, too, was the brightest witch of her generation.”

“There was similar discrimination in Alagaësia before the Riders got a handle on it, especially between elves and humans,” Brom told her. “Sadly, it has returned somewhat after the Fall.”

“Hopefully Eragon and I will be able to correct that,” Helena said out loud, to no one in particular.

Brom looked over at her, a small smile adorning his lips. “Hopefully.”

~ BWaC ~

They rode until dusk and then made camp for the night in a clearing far off of the road. While Helena and Brom had ridden mostly in silence, it hadn’t been uncomfortable. To say it had been comfortable would’ve been a lie, but the witch-turned-Dragon Rider was pleased to know that they at least were making progress. Perhaps adhering to Brom during the conversation at lunch, had made the old storyteller decide to give her a chance. Merlin, she hoped so, or this would become some extremely long weeks.

Like at lunch, Brom caught a couple of rabbits quickly, and Helena helped him prepare them. In the meantime, Eragon went out looking for water to refill their water skins. Godric lay slumbering, soaking in the last rays of the sun for the day, and Saphira laid lazily observing Helena and Brom. It amused Helena to no end how much dragons sometimes acted like cats.

“Helena,” Brom called her over as the dinner was left simmering over the fire. “I would like to check your mind now, if you have no objections.”

Helena looked away from Godric and over to Brom. They might’ve made progress that day, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable having him roam around in her mind, even just the top layer. Godric she was comfortable with, and Hermione, Ron, and Fred she would’ve been comfortable with. But Brom, the paranoid storyteller who had attacked and kidnapped her? No, she wasn’t at all with that. But, again, trust begets trust; and then there was the fact that she was _really_ curious about what Solembum had meant, and Brom was her best bet at figuring that out.

“Very well,” Helena nodded and walked to him. They sat down on the ground by the fire, a little more than a metre between them, and looked each other in the eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, old man. Just remember what I said.”

“Old man…” Brom scoffed and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I will remember. Though, I might ask you to do it afterwards. I’m rather curious about this ‘Occlumency’. Perhaps it is the same as the way Eragon and I protect our minds, perhaps it is different. And even if it is different, it might have the same effect.”

“Fair enough,” Helena nodded.

Helena breathed in deeply and prepared herself. In the back of her mind, she noticed Godric having awoken. He was observing them carefully; he was ready to intervene if she needed it. That comforted her a great deal.

That was when Brom’s mind touched hers. She nearly shut her Occlumency barriers up on instinct, but stopped herself at the last moment. Brom must’ve sensed her momentary struggle, because he stilled completely. He didn’t retreat, but he gave her the time she needed. He must’ve sensed that he was in no danger of being catapulted out of her mind (at least in that moment), because he proceeded not long after.

Soon enough surprise flowed from Brom’s mind into hers, followed by shock. Outside of their minds, Brom’s eyes widened like she had never seen them do, and his mouth opened slightly. Helena got slightly nervous. A moment later Brom retreated.

“Well?” Helena asked, nervousness creeping into her voice. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“I… I have never felt a mind like yours before,” Brom breathed out. He looked her up and down as if he was seeing her for the first time. “I must admit that I am glad that we’re not on opposing sides in the upcoming conflict, because I wouldn’t want to go up against you.” He paused to shake his head disbelieving. “The werecat was right, you’re not fully human. Neither are you a dwarf or an elf, though there are some similarities between your mind and the mind of elves. Honestly, if I were to compare your mind to the minds of another sentient being, I would have to say that the closest match is a dragon.”

Helena choked. “A _dragon_?”

‘ _I was wondering..._ ’ Godric commented. ‘ _That’s why Eragon’s and Brom’s minds felt so different from yours.’_

Helena looked over at her partner. ‘ _You knew my mind was like yours?_ ’

‘ _Of course_ ,’ he answered with a blink. ‘ _I was quite surprised when I made contact with Eragon’s mind. But I thought that it was perhaps just how the mind of males of your species was._ ’

Now it was Helena’s turn to shake her head in disbelief. She turned to Brom again. “My mind is like a dragon’s… How?”

“There, of course, are some fundamental differences,” Brom assured her. “You share the traits that all bipedal races of Alagaësia have, which the dragons lack. And you don’t rely on your instincts as much. But your mind is brimming with energy – magic, if you will –, and there is a depth to it beyond what is found in any mind but for a dragon’s, and now yours.”

Helena scrutinised Brom for a few seconds to see if he was serious. Evidently, he was. Shaking her head, Helena stood up and walked a few steps away.

‘ _Are you all right?_ ’ Godric asked, as he rose from his spot and walked over to her. He bumped his snout against her arm. ‘ _Is there anything I can do?_ ’

‘ _It’s just…’_ Helena started, but wasn’t able to find the words. She tried again. ‘ _All my life I have thought I was human. Yes, a human with gifts, but still undeniably **human**. I mean, blimey, Godric, you try imagining one morning waking up, only to discover that, no, you’re not a dragon, or even anything that resembles a dragon, like a wyvern. No, you’re told that you’re big, fire-breathing chicken with scales.’ _

Godric grimaced. If Helena weren’t as distraught as she was, she would’ve laughed at the look. ‘ _That would be… most unpleasant._ ’

‘ _Just give me some time – again_.’ Helena smiled wryly, knowing full well that she has told him the same that morning, when they talked about immortality. Really, to know that she wasn’t human (at least fully) was information overload more than anything else. She knew who she was, and labels weren’t going to change that. If she wasn’t already dealing with the whole immortality issue, then she might’ve been able to handle things much better.

She sighed deeply.

“Are you handling things?” Brom asked of her.

“I guess I am. I don’t really have the choice to stop everything and freak out,” Helena told him with a self-deprecating smile. His lips twitched, and she breathed deeply. “I don’t like not knowing things. You guessed that I wasn’t just another foot soldier in the war back home; many things I had no way of controlling, but other things were kept from me ‘for my own safety’...” She shook her head. Brom was looking at her curiously. “I’ve said this to Godric before, but I don’t think I’ll be completely at peace before I know _how_ I appeared here. I don’t have to return – that might not even be possible –, but I need to know how it happened.”

“I don’t blame you,” Brom told her after a few seconds. “Now, do you feel up for actually trying to throw me out of your mind, using this ‘Occlumency’.”

“I feel like it’s I who should ask you that,” Helena retorted straight-faced. “Depending on the force I have to repel, it will not be pleasant. I have never heard of anyone actually getting physically hurt by it, but my magic has changed since I bonded with Godric. The only time I’ve had use of Occlumency here, was when Solembum contacted me. He wasn’t actively trying to break into my mind, so nothing happened there.”

Brom nodded slowly. “First, could you tell me a bit about what Occlumency entails?”

“Well, to put it simply, it is the art of preventing someone from intruding into your mind by the act of Legilimency,” Helena answered. “There are four degrees of Occlumency. At the first degree, one is simply taught to focus on an object, an idea, a concept, a phrase, anything really, so that is all the intruder will see.”

“That is the stage which Eragon is at now,” Brom nodded. “No difference so far.”

Helena inclined her head. “The second degree is about emptying your mind. The intruder thus meets nothing, and can gain nothing. It’s the opposite of the first degree, and much harder to become proficient at, but the effect is the same: the intruder has no way of getting a foothold.”

“Again, it is similar to how the mind-arts function here,” Brom told her.

“Yeah, well, the third and fourth degree is where it gets complicated. The third degree is about subterfuge, to be able to present a constructed mind to your foe, while hiding your true thoughts away. Misinformation can be a powerful thing.”

Brom’s eyebrows rose. “And you’ve mastered such a thing? It is also known here, but it is usually only the elves or Riders who take their time to learn that, since it takes such a long time.”

Helena grimaced. “I wouldn’t say ‘mastered’. The foe I was up against in the war was a true master of Legimency, so he saw through such tricks and illusions easily. My strength comes from the fourth degree; you are taught to dig into your magic, to surround your mind with an impenetrable field. It is not like the first degree, where the intruder makes contact with the mind, but only receives whatever the attacked focuses on. This field is like a static, a noise, which one needs to get through before being able to actually attack the mind. It is also limited to the strength and capacity of your magic, unlike the first three degrees, which relies on strength of will.”

“Is such a thing possible?” Brom asked, his eyes just marginally wider than usual. Helena quirked an eyebrow. Brom shook his head and chuckled, “Very well, let's-.“

Helena’s and Brom’s conversation was broken by Saphira suddenly roaring.  Bolting up from her position, the blue dragon knocked over the campfire and their dinner, and curled around Brom. Godric was quick to get in between Helena and the older dragon, spreading his wings slightly to look more intimidating.

“What’s happening!?” Helena shouted over Godric, who refused to get out of the way.

“I don’t _know!_ ” Came a reply from a _very_ irate Brom. “This blue beast won’t let go of me.” As soon as he had said it, a large growling emanated from Saphira. “Oh, I’m so sorry your majesty. But if you don’t want to be called a beast, _stop acting like it!_ ”

Helena tried making contact with Saphira’s mind, but was rejected the moment she had touched the sapphire dragon’s thoughts. Helena turned to Godric.

‘ _Can you find out what is wrong?_ ’ Helena asked.

For a moment Godric stilled. ‘ _She won’t let me in._ ’ Helena noticed the small amount of hurt that came with the single sentence, but didn’t comment on it now. Now wasn’t the time.

‘ _Me neither,_ ’ Helena told him with a heavy frown. She looked around to the edge of the clearing. ‘ _Damn it, Eragon, where are you?_ ’

It was but a moment later that a figure burst into the clearing, causing Saphira to swing her tail towards it.

“Stop it’s me!” Eragon’s voice sounded. And then after another moment, “Oops!? You could’ve killed me! Where are Brom and Helena?”

“I’m over here,” Helena said, coming out from behind Godric’s form. “Brom is in there.” Helena pointed towards Saphira.

“Tell your crazed dragon to let me go!” Brom growled. “Because me she won’t listen to!”

“Let him go,” Eragon ordered disbelieving. “Didn’t you tell them?” Another moment of silence, where Saphira let a very angry Brom go. Eragon turned to him. “I found urgal footprints. They’re fresh, less than a day old.”

Immediately Brom’s expression changed. “Saddle the horses: we need to get away from here.”

Helena went to do just that, when she saw how Eragon cradled his right wrist. “Eragon, what happened to your wrist?” She touched it, making him recoil in pain.

“Ouch!” He glared at her. “I broke it getting back here.”

“You _broke_ it?” Brom asked incredulously.

“I can make something that will speed up the healing,” Helena offered. “But it will have to wait.”

“That it will,” Brom nodded distractedly. Then he turned to the dragons. “Saphira, you should fly just over us. If they see you, they might think twice about attacking.”

‘ _That is wise, or they will stop thinking altogether,_ ’ Saphira’s voice warned.

Brom nodded, and then turned to Godric. “I want you to fly further away. They must not see you.”

‘ _I will **not** hide away from some two-legs that are stupid enough to attack my Rider!_ ’ Godric growled.

Brom sighed, annoyed. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. You don’t get how important you are right now. The Black King at least knows of Eragon and Saphira, but he has no idea you and Helena exists. I want to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Godric kept growling.

‘ _My Heart, he is right_ ,’ Helena tried to soothe him.

‘ _I don’t like it_ ,’ he spat out. ‘ _This is Teirm all over again._ ’

‘ _How is it Teirm all over again?_ ’ Helena asked gently. ‘ _I was alone there; I’m not alone now. And even if I were, I **did** get through a war without you. From what I’ve read about urgals, they rely on brute strength, and has little to no affinity for magic. I can handle them, if it comes to that.’_

 ‘ _You can’t know that_.’

Helena sighed tiredly. ‘ _Godric, try to **think** about this. Brom is right. Right now, we are an unknown piece in the conflict between the Varden and the Empire. If we-.‘_

 _‘All right,’_ Godric cut her off. ‘ _All right... I just- I still don’t like it. And we **really** need not to make a habit of this. We’re supposed to fight **together** , not apart. That is where our strength lies.’_

Helena smiled softly at him. ‘ _I know_.’

Godric looked once more at her before he took off. Soon he was out of sight in the darkening sky. As Helena mounted Alfsigr, she couldn’t help but be grateful at the late hour: had it even been an hour earlier, then Godric’s ruby, gem-like scales would’ve been visible for many a mile. Helena shook her head, and then took off with Brom and Eragon.

They rode for about two miles before Helena heard any sign of the pursuers. It was a long, deep tone, most likely from a war horn. Brom made them stop as the tone died out.

“They must’ve seen one of Saphira’s or Godric’s footprints,” Brom concluded. Two more horns were heard in the night. “They’re hunting us now, and it is not like them to let their prey escape.” He paused for a moment, and then looked at them. “Call Saphira and Godric; you’re going to fly on them. Our best chance – our only chance – is to escape them.”

“What? And leave you?” Helena asked, not believing what she heard.

“You two are more important,” Brom growled.

Saphira landed after only a dozen seconds, and Eragon was quick to dismount Cadoc and mount Saphira. The female dragon didn’t hesitate and took off. Brom tied Cadoc to Snowfire, and they rode off, away from the sound of the urgals. A minute later Godric landed, and Helena handed Alfsigr’s tethering to Brom. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the older man. He sent her a hard look, however, and she sighed as she knew an argument would get them nowhere. She turned to Godric and mounted him, quickly having cast a Cushioning Charm, with the hopes that it would take the brunt of the damage her thighs would take otherwise.

Godric flew high and he flew fast. It wasn’t long before Helena’s teeth began clattering: the air was _much_ colder now than it had been in their last flight together. She tried to warm her hands on Godric’s scales, but it didn’t help. The two didn’t communicate over their mind-link, both keeping their minds open for Brom for when he would tell them the coast was clear. But it wasn’t Brom that contacted them.

‘ _Come quickly!’_ Saphira called on them, panic in her voice. ‘ _Eragon has fainted._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I managed to squeeze this chapter out despite my workload. Hopefully, the grammar has improved, and there are some extended scenes – the most prominent one being where Helena and Brom talks about Occlumency. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure it’s consistent with what J K Rowling had in mind, but it’s the way I’ve imagined it for a while. I hope you can accept that.  
> I feel like that there was a lot of canon rehash in this chapter, where Eragon asked a lot of questions. Hopefully, I have managed to do it in a way, which makes it at least somewhat interesting. I talked to Najex about this, and I’m actually a bit split about how Helena should be behaving here. She has a lot of questions, but she has only known Brom for a week; I don’t feel like she has the right to ask many questions, as Eragon has. That is why, while she asked a few questions and commented, it was Eragon and Brom who controlled that conversation.  
> Someone also pointed out to me that Helena might be a bit posh. I don’t take that to be a bad thing, because they’re right – especially compared to the Alagaësians she has encountered until now. Helena might be abrasive and callous at times, and has a colourful language when she gets upset, she mostly likes to speak proper (another effect of her wanting to be a teacher, I think). Do you agree with that, or is it just something I am imagining?  
> Lastly, I would just like to state how much I love writing Helena and Brom together. Their small squabbles make my day. Had they met under different circumstances, I believe they would’ve become terrific friends. As much as they disagree on things, they certainly respect each other (or at least will once they get to know each other). So, yeah, I love them.  
> Synthesis


	7. Magic Philosophy, Lesson One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The way you explain it, it isn't that far off from how the elves see magic, though it does sound like your explanation is a bit more philosophical," Brom admitted, an impressed look on his face. "Your explanation also fits in with the Ancient Language."  
> "How so?" Eragon asked with a frown.  
> "Well, in the Ancient Language each object, each person, and even each idea has one True Name," Brom explained. "If how this wizard society sees magic is taken into account, then it would mean that each true name encompasses the object's 'story'."  
> Helena hummed curiously, remembering how Solembum had mentioned ‘true name’ in his rant about names. "It is an interesting theory, but not one I can debate on. I know too little of the Ancient Language and how it works."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Helena's snout sniffed along the forest floor. As the rotten smell of the urgals reached her nose, she had to stop to get her stomach under control and to fight the violent urge to gag. One would think that she would get used to it after having hunted them for a day, and thus having already smelt them several times, but that wasn't true. If anything, she handled it worse each time she was met with the stench. Helena shook the thoughts from her head and jumped over a fallen log to follow the trail.

' _The targets are only a few hundred metres to the north,_ ' Helena informed Brom and Saphira over their mental connection. ' _I'm guessing from the intensity of their stench that there are a few of them. Three or four, is my closest estimation._ '

' _I hear you. Saphira and I will sweep in from above. You will chase down any urgals which escape our initial attack,'_ Brom responded.

' _They will know not to mess with a dragon and her Rider again,_ ' Saphira's voice sounded determined.

' _The idea is that they **won't**  know it,_' Brom pointed out gruffly. ' _Now, let’s attack before they move again._ '

As Brom's voice sounded in her head, Helena caught the unnerved feeling that flowed from him, before he got a handle on it. If she hadn't been a wolf for the moment, she would've smirked. As it was, simple amusement flowed from her, and she made no effort in hiding it. She was quite proud of what she could do.

When Brom had discovered what Eragon had done, he had been furious. It reminded Helena  _strongly_  of Alastor when he would berate Order members for doing something foolish. And, yes, Eragon had done something foolish, something genuinely moronic and _dangerous_. While Helena wasn't spewing fire and ash (figuratively), she was also severely disappointed in her fellow Dragon Rider. The dragons weren't much better. It certainly didn't help on Godric's view of Eragon, who hadn’t viewed him in a favourable light even before the incident – mostly due to Eragon’s unwillingness to fight the Broddring Empire and the Black King. It indeed was safe to say, that Eragon would be facing a severe bollocking when he awoke from his unconscious state.

As soon as they had gotten Eragon back to their camp, Brom wanted to be off to hunt down the urgals. He didn’t need time to convince Helena, as she was right with him on that one, but pointed out that they really should leave someone to guard Eragon. If it had just been him, Eragon, and Saphira, she could understand that Brom would've left Eragon alone, but now Helena and Godric were with them. After a quick discussion, it was decided that Godric would stay behind, since he didn't trust Brom enough to let him ride him. That was when Helena had revealed her animagus abilities.

Brom all but falling on his arse as she morphed into a wolf the size of a horse would forever be a fond memory of Helena’s. After recovering from his initial shock Brom had seen the advantage in it. So, after flying back to where Eragon had done The Moronic Act, Helena had morphed into a dire wolf and hunted the urgals down from the ground, while Brom and Saphira scouted and supported her from the air.

According to Saphira, there had been twelve Urgals, and so far, they had killed seven – Brom and Saphira had killed three by themselves, Helena had killed two by herself, and they had killed two in cooperation. That sadly still left five unaccounted for – one or two if you discounted the Urgals up ahead.

Her next thought was interrupted by an ear-shattering roar, quickly followed by trees splinterings like toothpicks, and the frightened squealing of urgals. Helena shook her head to be able to focus again. Narrowing her eyes and tightening her muscles to be ready to spring into action, she got her cue when the sound of a body fleeing through the forest sounded to the left of her.

Helena didn't hesitate and sprang into action. Bolting through the undergrowth, under fallen logs and over stones, the female Dragon Rider was soon upon the urgal. Helena snarled loudly before she sprung on the back of the beast-like creature.

It squealed. Loudly. Helena slashed its back with her claws, making cascades of dark red blood spring from the gashes, and managed to get a good bite into its shoulder. She yelped in surprise, however, as one of the urgal’s large hands managed to grasp her and sling her head over tail through the air – a part of her couldn’t help but be impressed by the feat, and she found a new respect for the urgals’ strength (it wasn’t hard to imagine why the people of the land feared them). Helena managed to right her body at the last possible moment, landing just a little bit harshly on her paws. She was now face to face with the urgal, her hackles raised and a low and dangerous growl emanating from her. The urgals pig-like eyes widened and it took a step back. Helena wouldn’t let it get away.

She charged again.

The urgal, being too frightened at this point – and Helena couldn't blame it, when it had just been attacked by a dragon, followed by a vicious, giant wolf –, didn't think of fighting, only fleeing. It wouldn't get the chance; Helena was too fast. Jumping him, Helena went for the kill, and practically tore its throat out.

It was only a moment later as she spat the mangled flesh out of her mouth that she felt sick. It wasn't so much the killing part – as much as she hated it, she had killed before – as it was the method she had terminated the creature’s life. But she didn't have time to be sick right now. She could do that back at the camp.

Shuddering, Helena ran back to where Saphira and Brom had attacked to see if they needed any help. It quickly became clear that they didn't, however, as they stood over the corpses of two Urgals.

Brom and Saphira looked up as she entered the clearing (which hadn't been there before Saphira had attacked). Brom seemed to tense for a moment as his right hand went to the pommel of his sword, but he quickly got it under control. Instinct died hard, after all. Seeing it was just her, Brom went back to examining one of the Urgals. Not wasting time, Helena's form blurred, before her human self stepped up to them.

"I take it you got it?" Brom asked in his own gruff way.

"Yes," Helena nodded. "So that leaves us with two, if I'm not mistaken."

"Indeed," Brom nodded and stood up. When he saw her properly, he stilled. "You got something..." he motioned at her mouth.

Helena frowned before she wiped her mouth in her arm. She shuddered and gagged as her sleeve was soaked in blood. She quickly cleaned the rest of her mouth, and couldn't wait to get back to camp to get the copper-taste out of her mouth. At least the taste of the blood didn’t match the smell – not that it was pleasant, anyhow.

"Were there any more urgals around here?" Brom asked.

"Not that I know of," Helena answered with a sigh. "Wherever they are, their scent isn't near here. What about you, Saphira?"

' _I can't smell them either,_ ' Saphira concurred with Helena's conclusion.

"All right, then this is what we're going to do," Brom answered. "Helena, you go back to camp. Tell Godric to start searching, and you stay at the camp. We will need to search from the air to get the last two, it seems."

Helena nodded. "I'll be quick."

~ BWaC ~

"Ouch!"

"Keep still."

"Not if you're going to keep prodding my  _broken_  wrist."

"Oh, stop fussing about, kid!"

"I already told you, I'm almost-."

"Almost sixteen, I get that! But that means squat, when you go about acting like a complete and utter pillock!"

Eragon glared at her. Helena couldn't care less, as she prodded his wrist again, trying to get a feel for the injury. It only made the farmer's boy glare harder at her – this time she didn’t even react to it. If she had had more control over her magic, she would have used a diagnostic spell, but seeing as Healing Magics were right up there with Transfiguration when it came to its difficulty, she had to settle for prodding Eragon's wrist. A small part of her, she would admit, felt that he utterly deserved it, for being as moronic as he had been.

"Okay, I'm going to smear this paste on it now," Helena told Eragon without looking him in the eyes. "It's going to sting for a few minutes, but it will help with the swelling and dilute some of the pain."

"I don't need the pain to be diluted," Eragon told her in a slighted tone.

Helena rolled her eyes. "Oh, right, I forgot. You are a strong and handsome man, who doesn't need anyone's help. Because you are sixteen. In fact, you are  _so_  smart, that you landed in front of a dozen urgals, and  _let them get away!_ Nice one, really."

Eragon's jaw snapped shut.

"Besides, the potion you'll be drinking won't be painless either," Helena continued in a softer tone. "While it won't be as painful as actually regrowing your entire bone – and believe me, that hurts like you wouldn't believe –, it will still hurt."

"How long until it's healed?"

“Well, if the potion were as potent as the one the professionals use it would only take a few hours,” Helena told him, not mentioning that they usually would simply wave their wand over the break and heal it in seconds. “But I need to make it from scratch, so I would say a few days to a week at most.”

"But what about my training?" Eragon frowned. Helena shot him an exasperated look.

"I'm sure Brom has thought of something,” she settled with telling him. “You  _could_  ignore my warning and train with your right hand, re-breaking your wrist and making it that much worse. If it doesn't heal properly, you will have to use your left hand as your late night dates for the rest of your life."

"My late night dates..?" Eragon looked confused. Then he blushed bright red. "I don't-"

"Oh, yes you do," Helena sighed, getting tired of the prudishness that she had been experiencing since arriving in Alagaësia. All right, perhaps she was feeling extra snappy at the moment because of Eragon's actions, but still. "All men, and quite a few women, do it. It's natural – healthy even."

If anything, it only made Eragon blush a brighter red, if such a thing was even possible. It receded a few moments later, though, when the paste began to work. Eragon winced and looked down at his wrist, but didn't complain.

Having made sure that the wrist was fine for now, Helena bandaged it up again, and turned to the copper cauldron. It had taken some time to set it up, as potion-making was a delicate art, where you needed to control  _everything_ – even how hot the cauldron got, and how fast it got hot. It was fortunate that she had thought of bringing the field potions set when she had packed before arriving in the Spine. Not that she recalled, she couldn’t help but remind herself. Godric brushed against her mind, and she took a settling breath.

Turning to her beaded bag, Helena stuck her hand down in it and began looking for Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage. It took about two minutes, during which time a few books got scattered around her, but she found it.

"Let’s see, let’s see..." Helena muttered as she flipped through the pages.

"Are you sure it's safe to brew yourself?" Eragon asked as he threw an uncertain look at the cauldron. Helena's answer was a glare, making Eragon raise his healthy hand in defence. "All right, it is. Sorry for asking."

"I will fully admit that I am not skilled enough to be a Potions Master, but I  _am_  good enough to brew N.E.W.T. level potions," Helena told him, leaving no room for argument.

"N.E.W.T.?"

"Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test," the answer came absent-mindedly from Helena, as she began flipping through the pages of the potions book. "It's the last exam you take in Wizarding Schools. You can keep studying to get a Warlock degree, but unless you want to truly study Alchemy or invent new potions – or become a Potions Master –, N.E.W.T. level Potions are more than enough for most professions. Ah, there it is. The Skeletal Regrowth Mixture."

Eragon sat back, watching curiously as she prepared the ingredients. Helena swore she saw him squirm a bit at some of it, and she couldn't blame him. She remembered the first time she had walked into Paldrige's Potions and Pollutes in Diagon Alley. It was safe to say that she hadn't been able to keep anything down that day.

"Are you really that mad at me?" Eragon asked after a few minutes, his voice small. Helena stopped cutting the fillet of a fenny snake and looked up at her fellow Dragon Rider. He wasn't looking at her. Helena began feeling bad at how she had treated him, but knew it was necessary.

She sighed again.

"Yes, because that stunt back there, that was a real cock up if I have ever seen one,” Helena answered. And it was saying something, as she herself wasn’t exactly a stranger to cock ups. “But I’m also just... _so_ worried for you.”

“Worried?” Eragon asked with a tilted her.

Helena set the potion ingredients aside for the moment, and turned entirely to the younger Rider. “You’re me. Me from four years ago, from before all went to hell at home. You remind me of myself when I was younger. Before the war back home... jaded me, I guess is the word for it.”

"How so?"

"You care _deeply_ for your loved ones, and you have no shortage of courage. For the most part, you are selfless, and you want to help others. You’re not perfect – no one is –, but you have your heart in the right place. You’re better than most, and that is enough,” Helena told him softly candidly. Then her face hardened. “But you’re also rash, and impulsive, and act like your actions do not have consequences. You keep learning all these new things, things that are so magical, so much more than you ever thought was possible. You learn these things, and learn that not only do they exist, but _you_ are able to do them, and you forget to ask yourself _if_ you should do these things.”

Eragon frowned in thought.

"Your magic differs from my own, I will be the first one to admit that," Helena continued, as she went back to preparing the ingredients for the potion. "I haven’t exactly had time to study the differences yet; Brom will be a much better teacher to teach you the finer details. But with that said, our branches of magic have more in common than not. When you use magic, it drains you physically. When I use magic, it drains my magical core. And when we use magic past our limitations, the consequences can be extremely severe."

"Brom explained that…" Eragon admitted.

"As he should have," Helena nodded decisively. The knife in her hand stilled again, as she looked up at the Blue Rider. "Eragon, I lost a lot of friends in the war. I put them at risk so many times, it's a wonder that none of their deaths are actually my fault. You might not see it yet, but the role that you gained when Saphira hatched for you, is more important than you can possibly imagine. Whether you accept that or not, and whether you decide to join the Varden or not, you  _will_  have a role in the upcoming war. Even your decision not to fight will have far-reaching consequences. I was like that as well. If the mistakes I made can help me prevent you from making the same mistakes, then it will all have been worth it."

Eragon looked down on the ground, not answering right away. Good: that meant that he was thinking. And then, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are. I always was."

"But what am I supposed to do?” Eragon asked of her, with a mix between frustration and helplessness. “Should I sit idly by when those I care about are in danger? Should I _not_ do what I think is right, because something _might_ happen?"

"You are supposed to see the bigger picture," Helena told him sternly, but not unkindly. "You need to learn to predict the consequences of your actions _before_ you have acted. I'm not asking you to give up on your friends – that is the last thing I will ever ask you."

"What then?" Eragon asked, getting a bit worked up. It wasn’t directed at her, but the whole situation. Good thing, too, or she would give him another bollocking for sure.

"You wanted to save Brom? That's fine. But why in the world did you not kill those urgals?" Helena asked exasperatedly. "And why in the world use your magic to toss all twelve of them, when you have learned that any energy you use with your magic, will be taken from you physically? The better action to take would have been to throw pebbles through their heads."

"I didn't want to kill them."

The quiet admission made Helena hesitate. She was prevented from responding, however, by the sound of two pairs of wings approaching. A few moments later, and Saphira's and Godric's bodies blocked out the sun, colouring the ground around Eragon and Helena in sapphire and ruby colours. Helena bit out a curse as the winds from the dragons' landing were blowing away her ingredients. Thank Merlin she hadn’t actually started brewing the potion yet, or all would’ve been wasted.

The moment Saphira had landed, Brom jumped off of her back looking mighty angry. He approached with wide steps, clearly ready to bite Eragon's head off.

"Before you start," Helena stopped him before he could start. "Could you please move it over to the other side of camp. I have a limited supply of ingredients, and I would really appreciate if they don't get ruined in your spat."

Eragon sent her a betrayed look which she completely ignored. Brom looked annoyed but listened, yanking Eragon up by his (healthy) arm, and pulled him away from Helena and her potion-brewing.

As Brom started tearing into Eragon – both figuratively, and a little bit literally –, the two dragons laid down not far from her, observing what she was doing. Saphira was still glancing over at Eragon and Brom, who were now positioned behind Helena, but clearly didn't find it necessary to break them up. The Blue Dragon had possibly been the most disappointed of them all, and Helena didn’t blame her.

"Did you get the last of the urgals?" Helena asked the two dragons.

' _We did not,_ ' Godric answered displeased, blowing out black smoke from his nose. ' _One got away._ '

"Son of a banshee," Helena swore.

' _Indeed_ ,' Saphira agreed with a huff. ' _If I had known what he was going to do, I would've never landed._ '

Helena looked up at the sapphire dragon. ' _Like I told Eragon, it wasn't as much that he did what he did, it was that he didn't predict the consequences. I can understand that he wanted to save Brom, but he has got to learn to think before he acts_.'

Saphira looked at Helena and blinked. ' _I truly hope that you will rub off on my Rider._ '

Helena gave her a small smile. While it was true that she had spent the last hour or so trying to get that message across to Eragon, there was also a part of her that hoped he wouldn't have to change for a while. He acted like a kid, because he  _was_  a kid. He was  _sixteen_ years old. Sixteen-year-olds shouldn't have to worry about the fate of the world.

' _You were only fourteen_ ,' Godric pointed out. ' _That was when Tom was resurrected. And even before then you had a weight on your shoulders._ '

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Helena frowned heavily. She looked over at Godric, who was clearly surprised by her sharp tone. It was understandable, as she had never snapped at him before. No matter what he insisted, a part of him would always be her baby. "So, because I suffered more than him, he isn't allowed to acknowledge the pain? Because he had a whole additional two years without having to worry about someone killing for something out of his control, he has to just deal with it? Is that truly how you feel, Godric?"

' _I..._ ' it came from Godric, who was clearly speechless and clueless as to how to handle the situation.

"No matter the circumstances of a person's life, there will be hardships. The hardship that a homeless orphan acknowledges is very different from that of a young lady who has grown up and never known hunger. The young lady might think the world is ending because she is sent to her room without dinner, but the homeless orphan wouldn't think of it before she had gone days without food. That doesn't make the hardship any less real for the young lady."

A growing sense of regret emanated from Godric's person, as the blue dragon laid looking curiously at the argument. Helena looked away from the dragons and back at her potion-making, officially beginning the potion by pouring the slime of thirteen slugs into the cauldron.

' _I am sorry, Dear One,_ ' Godric finally managed to tell her. Helena's jaw tightened, but quickly eased out again when she felt how awful Godric was feeling.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider breathed out harshly through her nostrils.

"Unless you have lived another person's life, you don't have the right to judge them," Helena finally told him. Slowly stirring the slime in the cauldron, she looked up at Godric again, who was looking with sadness behind his blue eyes. "Everyone has hardships, and it takes a toll on us all. I get that it is different with dragons, and that you are, for lack of a better term, more brutal than humans... but that does not make it acceptable in my mind. Many things I can and have accepted are different when it comes to you, My Heart, because everyone has their own beliefs, but this is one thing I will not go on compromise with. I can't stand people who act superior and judge others without any foundation for that judgement. It's one of the few things that truly sets me off."

Neither dragon had any comments to that. Helena had learned that dragons did have different views than humans due to their nature, and as she had said to Godric, she accepted that. The way they were so prideful and vain was endearing even. She could understand that, as she also had a streak of pride in her, one she wasn’t ashamed of. But the way that Godric had dismissed Eragon's suffering? How his uncle had been murdered, how he had to say goodbye to all that he knew in the world? It infuriated her, there was no other way of phrasing it.

Helena took a deep breath to calm down. She was bound to make mistakes with the potion if she was worked up, and while the potion she was working on couldn't explode and kill her, it could really injure her.

After having stirred the slug slime counter-clockwise seventy times, Helena looked over at the book to see what was next.

"All right; Add five whole eyes of newt and three toes of frog cut just above the second joint simultaneously. Wait then for seventeen seconds before stirring twenty times clockwise: this will dissolve the reagents, and turn the potion a juniper green..." Helena read out loud, doing as instructed, slowly but surely zoning in on what she was doing and ignoring everything else

Forty minutes passed before Helena was jarred out of her potion-making. She blinked twice, the act being slightly disorienting. Eragon and Brom were sitting not far from her. Brom writing by the looks of it, in a small, worn black book. Eragon had one of her books in his hands, The Handbook for Hippogriff Psychology, and she was confused for a moment about where he had gotten it, before remembering the several books she had discarded on the ground in her search for the potions books. At the moment they were both looking expectantly at her.

"Sorry, what?" Helena asked. "I didn't catch it."

"I asked if the potion is finished soon, or if we should expect to stay here for another night," Brom said gruffly. Despite his tone of voice, Helena could read his body-language well enough by now to tell that he actually wouldn’t mind. He then cast a queer look at the potion.

"It should be finished within twenty minutes," Helena answered, as she turned her attention back to the potion and the small hourglass beside it. "I just need to add a blind-worm's sting and some grounded dragon-scales."

"Dragon-scales?" Eragon asked with wide eyes.

Helena glanced up quickly. "Sorry, a slip of the tongue: I mean wyvern-scales. I keep forgetting that the term isn’t interchangeable here. The wyverns of Earth have become almost immune to magic due to how much wizards hunted them. Adding them to a potion in the right quantity and at the right moment will enhance the magical effects."

"And I really need to drink it? It doesn't look very appealing."

"No, it doesn't, and, honestly, it tastes like goblin piss," Helena answered bluntly and without mercy. Eragon turned a shade of green reminiscent of the potion.

"Got personal experience with that, have you?" Brom asked amused. Helena glared at him. "Oh gods, it isn't like the basilisk, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Helena rolled her eyes. "It's just a figure of speech back home. And, yes, Eragon, you will have to drink it. I've made enough for a week. You will have to drink a small cup of it each morning and evening, and it should speed up the healing exponentially. And like I said when I applied the paste on your wrist, it's not going to be pleasant. I've never tried to heal breaks with potions, only with wand-waving. When that happens, it kind of feel like ants are walking and gnawing on your break."

"What?" Eragon squeaked.

Helena scoffed. "Be happy that you still have any bones in your arm. Repairing bones might be mighty unpleasant, but regrowing them entirely hurts like a bitch."

“You mentioned that before: how do you lose bones?”

“Magic gone awry,” Helena grimaced.

"Helena, how does your potion work?" Brom asked with a curious look on his face.

"I actually don't know the details, just that it will work on breaks," Helena admitted sheepishly.

"No, I mean how do potions work in general?" Brom clarified. "While we have something similar here, it is nowhere near as powerful as to be able to decrease the recovery time for a break from months to mere days. Gertrude, the healer in Carvahall, knew a few tricks which would help with a fever, and the elves know more than just a bit about plants and herbs, but neither could make something like that."

Helena looked thoughtful. "Before I can explain it, I need to explain the fundamentals of how wizardkind view magic, as it may differ from your own. I can't be certain, but I would rather be safe than sorry."

Eragon stopped looking sickly at the bubbling potion, his eyes snapping up to look at her excitedly. Even Brom looked excited at the prospect, if it was even possible for the gruff storyteller. Saphira also seemed very interested. Godric, however, still laid over by the edge of the camp, apparently still thinking of the argument he had been involved in.

"Please do," Brom nodded a moment after, trying, and failing, to hide how much he wanted to know.

"It was explained to me by my mentor a few years ago," Helena started telling them, remembering back to what Dumbledore had taught her in her Sixth Year. "He was the strongest wizard in the world at that time, possibly except for the Dark Lord. He explained how it was really only in the last century or so that wizards and witches began wondering  _how_  magic worked, as we were influenced by how Muggles had seen the world for several hundred years."

"A century," Eragon breathed in disbelief. "Isn't a century a rather long period of time."

Helena looked slightly annoyed at Eragon for interrupting her, making the boy shrink under her look. Mentally she grunted, realising she probably wasn’t over how Eragon had acted yet. With that said, she did answer him.

"For a society which has been around in one form or another for seven millennia, a century is like a blink of an eye," Helena told him. Both Eragon and Brom looked gobsmacked at that piece of information, but Helena ignored it for the moment in favour of continuing her explanation on magic. "There are multiple explanations, but this is the one that I feel comes closest to the truth. The way I learned it,  _everything_  has a story. In every action, in every plant, in every creature, and in every rock. Even in the very air. They have their own personality, their own meaning, and their own purpose."

"How so?" Brom looked confused.

"You're probably aware of them already, although you don't pay attention to it," Helena explained amusedly. "A rock is unyielding. A tree is reborn each year. A gust of wind is free. Of course, these are not literal truths."

Brom nodded as he seemed to grasp the concept somewhat. "I think I get it. They are symbols. Like the dawn is a symbol of new hope."

Helena made a face. "Not quite, but close enough. Now, a spell hears the story of the object in focus. With the help of the witch or wizard, the spell then adds to it. It is a symbiosis, if you will." The witch-turned-Dragon Rider paused to see if the two humans and dragon were still with her. "Now, potioneers use that story. A plant is not just a plant, and an animal is not just an animal. It is life. It is death. It is food, or it is poison. It might be pure, or it might be corrupt. It might flourish in the warmth, or shrivel and shy away from it. Those are the stories that you add to a potion, which then weaves them together, making them greater than they were before. If you get it right, you can do nigh everything. Mind you, I'm not quite at that level, and still need my books to brew many potions."

"The way you explain it, it isn't that far off from how the elves see magic, though it does sound like your explanation is a bit more philosophical," Brom admitted, an impressed look on his face. "Your explanation also fits in with the Ancient Language."

"How so?" Eragon asked with a frown.

"Well, in the Ancient Language each object, each person, and even each idea has one True Name," Brom explained. "If how this wizard society sees magic is taken into account, then it would mean that each true name encompasses the object's 'story'."

Helena hummed curiously, remembering how Solembum had mentioned ‘true name’ in his rant about names. "It is an interesting theory, but not one I can debate on. I know too little of the Ancient Language and how it works."

“And we will have to rectify that in the coming weeks,” Brom grunted. She might just be seeing things, but he seemed thankful for what she had shared. “In any case, it can wait. The moment the potion is done, we need to get moving."

Helena nodded and turned back to the cauldron, adding the blind-worm's sting and grounded wyvern scales.

~ BWaC ~

Their small group didn't make much headway that day. That didn't matter much, as Brom had decreed that they would spend a few weeks in the mountainous region training: Eragon would have to learn to use his head, and Helena would need to learn about Alagaësian magic and sword fighting. As she herself had put it, she wasn't without the need of learning how to think in a sword fight. The battles she would undoubtedly be in, in the months and possibly years to come, weren't like the fights she had been in before. This would be with sword and shield and armour and a few magicians, and not with a wand. And even if it was a fight of magic, the magic of Alagaësia she had encountered so far was different enough from her own, that she wasn’t even confident that it would be done in the same way as on Earth.

Helena had ridden on Alfsigr, even though she knew now the Cushioning Charm saved her from having her thighs slashed open (though, she should really make a saddle at some point). Eragon couldn't understand why, and was even jealous of her, as he was now earth-bound until his wrist had fully healed. It clearly annoyed him even more that she wouldn't tell him, and she let him be: it was too personal for Eragon to be told about.

Godric had stayed oddly quiet ever since their spat earlier that day. It wasn't like the ruby dragon was a chatty person to begin win, but since setting out for the day, he hadn't said a word to her. Of course, their minds were still connected, but Helena couldn't tell what Godric was thinking. And it wasn't like when he was but a hatchling, when he  _couldn't_  form any actual thoughts. Now he was actively hiding his thoughts from her, and although Helena could tell it wasn't because he had taken offence over what she had said, it still hurt.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider couldn't help but sport a grin when they stopped for the night. Brom had tried to rectify Eragon's... inexperience in thinking, Helena thought was the most polite way of putting it, by presenting him with various scenarios, which the farmer's boy had to solve. Helena didn't go unscathed either, but she had already learned the hard way to use her head. Besides, it was tougher for Brom to come up with scenarios for her, as he didn't know the limits of her magic. Still, it wasn't her who looked like her head was going to explode.

"Eragon-." Brom started as he stirred the rabbit stew. It was from that morning, but the number one rule when you were on the run, was that you shouldn't waste  _anything_. That included rabbit stew, which would be tasteless after spending a day in a plastic bag.

"Can't it wait till after we have eaten?" Eragon whined, throwing a look that was a cross between being exasperated and begging. "You've thrown scenarios at me all day, and it doesn't help that my wrist itches so much that I want to rip it off." As he finished the sentence, he threw a glare at Helena.

"Don't give me that look," Helena dismissed him easily. "It's an itching wrist for a week or a useless wrist that actually hurts for several months." Eragon's face scrunched together and Saphira made coughing sounds which translated to dragon-laughter.

"I still could use a break, just while we eat."

"I wasn't going to throw another scenario at you," Brom told him blandly. "I was going to ask if you could hand me the bag with the herbs in. I'm going to try to make the stew not taste like something Sloan would cook."

"Oh..." Eragon blushed. He handed said bag to the storyteller, who looked mighty amused. "Sorry."

Helena smiled and shook her head in amusement, before she stood up and walked to the edge of the camp. Looking down on her left palm, the one with the mark on it – gedwëy insignia, Brom called it –, and took a deep breath. Reaching for her magic, the mark lit up lightly, and she began reciting the incantation.

"Protego Totallum. Salvio Hexia," it came firmly and without waver from Helena. She let the magic rush out through her mark, a feeling she had gotten used to by now. The magic followed her command and began forming a bubble around the small camp. While it would be invisible when she was finished, while she was still casting, the enchantments could be spotted by the slight colouration and the distortion of light.

"Helena, what are you doing?" Eragon asked. Helena paused and glanced over her shoulder. Both the two humans and two dragons were looking with wide eyes at the expanding dome of defensive enchantments.

"Casting protective enchantments," she answered. "Now, shush. I need to concentrate." She could all but feel the way their eyes bored into her back, but she ignored it, and grasped her magic again. "Cave Inimicum. Muffliato. Repello Muggletum. Absconditia Visius. Protego Totallum. Salvio Hexia. Cave Inimicum...”

The female Dragon Rider repeated the incantations over and over as she slowly but surely made a full circle around their camp. When she ended where she had begun, several bubbles were wrapped around them, giving a light humming as they mixed and amplified each other. Helena poked out with her magic to check if they were working properly, and when she was certain they were, she let go of them. The humming got a bit louder, before fading away as the enchantments became invisible as they should be.

Helena let out a deep breath, as she went back and sat by the fire.

"That was quite impressive," Brom admitted. Looking up at the silver-haired man with a raised eyebrow, Helena had to fight a grin at how disgruntled he looked at having to admit it.

"Why'd you do it tonight, but not the other nights?" Eragon asked.

"Before now, the drawbacks outweighed the advantages of having them up," Helena answered.

"What do you mean?" Eragon prodded again.

"Well, what has changed in the last forty-eight hours?" Helene asked in a deadpanned tone and gave him a meaningful look. The male Dragon Rider winced and looked away. "I have no idea if the enemy can sense these wards from a distance. No wizard should be able to sense them, but my magic and your magic are different, or at least the way it's used is different. I didn't want to alert any potential pursuers of our location. But now we know that someone is after us, with one of the urgals getting away. We don't know when they will be back, nor how many there will be. If they come back, we can be certain that there will be more than a dozen in numbers, as they were beaten rather easily by you – however foolishly you did it. Even if they can sense the wards, the wards will give us the time we need to prepare."

"Good thinking," Brom complimented.

This time Helena couldn't help but grin at the man. "Watch out, old man. People might begin to think that you aren't as grumpy and unforgiving as you would like them to think."

Brom only glared in response, as Eragon and the dragons stifled their laughter.

“As far as sensing your magic,” Brom commented as he closed his eyes. Helena perked up and looked intensely at him, berating herself for not asking the story-teller sooner to check on it. “I _can_ sense it, just like I would be able to sense wards of other magicians. With that said, if I wasn’t actively sensing for it, it wouldn’t pop out at me.”

Helena considered it. A part of her had hoped that her magic was different enough that the Alagaësian magicals wouldn’t be able to sense it at all, but that was nothing but wishful thinking. It wasn’t the worst-case scenario either, however, as, as Brom had put it, the magic didn’t ‘pop out’ at them. She also had to consider that Brom was inside the wards at the moment, and that they were designed to avoid detection from the outside... It was enough for now, but she needed to investigate further. Brom was sure to be willing to assist her in that, as he seemed as fascinated with her kind of magic as she was with Alagaësian magic.

“Helena, what are hippogriffs?” Eragon asked, making her eyes snap up at him.

A fond smile spread across her lips as Buckbeak was brought to the forefront of her mind. “They’re a magical species from back home,” Helena began telling him. “They have the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of giant eagles...”

~ BWaC ~

' _Helena?_ ' Godric's voice sounded in her head. In the silence of the night, which was only broken by the rustling of bushes as foxes and wolves went about and the odd bat flying through the air, it was incredibly loud, even if it wasn’t physical.

Brom, Eragon, and Saphira were all sleeping, Helena having offered to take the first watch that evening – that they had wards up now was no excuse to get lazy. Helena had been more than just a bit surprised when the storyteller hadn't argued with her, but simply accepted it with a grunt, after which he had laid down on his blanket and went straight to sleep. Helena hadn't even tried to hide her surprise. Evidentially, the events of the last few days had earned her some trust at least. At that thought, Helena's surprised expression had changed into a soft smile.

The Dragon Rider in question looked up from her book on magical theory. ' _Godric?_ ' The ruby dragon blinked in response. ' _Is there something the matter?_ '

' _I..._ ' Godric started, and then shook his head. Rising from his position about a dozen metres from her, he walked as quietly as he could over to her and laid down beside her. He moved his head so his blue eyes on level with her green ones. ' _I want to talk about what happened earlier._ '

Helena's face soured slightly as she remembered, but she didn't deny him.

' _I'm sorry for what I said_ ,' Godric apologised, the regret flowing from him. ' _I still don't understand, but I want to. I tend to forget that I am barely two months old, and that as much as my instincts tell me, you also have much wisdom to share. You are nothing like the farmer's boy. You have lived through a war and so much more. I shouldn't dismiss that._ '

Helena sighed and put her book away. ' _I am also sorry for how I reacted. I should've said it in a different manner_.'

' _Please don't apologise,_ ' Godric insisted, his determination shining through his eyes and his mind. ' _You have accepted so many of my... oddities, as you call them, despite not agreeing with them. And I admire you for that. I admire you greatly for your ability to... how did you put it? Place yourself in other peoples’ footwear?’_

Helena’s lips twitched. ‘ _Close enough._ ’

Godric nodded. ' _You try to see things from their view, even when you don't agree with that particular view. You try to **understand**. But while I admire that, it is also foreign to me._ '

' _And that is not your fault,_ ' Helena told him firmly. ' _You are subject to your instincts more than I. But you are **not**  an animal. You can learn to be more than your instincts._'

' _I know_ ,' Godric breathed out. ' _I still don't understand what you said earlier, but I am going to try, Dear One._ '

Helena smiled lovingly at him. ' _I know you will, My Heart_.'

Humming deeply in his throat, Godric lowered his head down into Helena's lap, where she immediately began to pet and scratch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no entirely new scenes in this chapter, but, as with many of the original chapters, I have expanded on a few scenes. This time it wasn’t one particular scene, but simply here and there where I felt it was needed.  
> To my British readers – or, in fact, anyone with knowledge about British terminology and slang: if you see me slip up with something, then please do point it out, either in a review or with a PM. I’ve said this before, and I’ll repeat it; English is not my first language, and I would argue that I have been influenced more by American English than British English when it comes to phrases and slang. Thank you in advance.  
> Lastly: I can’t take credit for how Helena explained magic in this chapter. The one who made that up is Steelbadger on fanfiction.net. If you are interested in Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings, I really do advice you to take a look at his story, ‘The Shadow of Angmar’. It is truly a fantastic piece of work, and, in my humble opinion, one of a kind.   
> Synthesis


	8. A Student Once Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena scoffed, “Some partner you are.”  
> ‘It was you who threw me out from a tree to teach me how to fly.’  
> “You did what?” it came from Brom, as Eragon simply gaped.  
> “The ground was cushioned,” Helena rolled her eyes. “What do you think I am? An absolute monster?”  
> “Well, in the morning-“ Brom started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

“What does using magic feel like to you?” Brom started out asking her.

Helena quirked an eyebrow. “What does seeing feel like to you-“

Brom grimaced, “If you’re not going-.“

“I’m serious,” Helena cut him off. “Try to explain, in plain words, what seeing feels like to you. Not how _what_ you see makes you feel, but how the sense of seeing feels to you.” When Brom’s answer was silence, Helena nodded with a small smile. “Exactly. Magic is... a part of me. It is irrefutably _me_ , and without it, I wouldn’t be. It isn’t so much a sense, as it is what senses are based on.”

“Alright, I’ll accept that answer,” Brom inclined his head after a moment. “But when you’re in the middle of the act of using magic, what does it feel like to you, physically? Does it tire you?”

“’Tire’ might be the wrong term to use, at least under normal circumstances,” Helena answered after a second or two of consideration. “When I cast a spell or enchantment, I feel the energy that is needed, and I feel my magical core being drained – but physically I don’t get tired from the spell itself. If you’re old and frail you might find wandweaving exhausting after a while, and normally in a duel, you would not stay stationary, but that is another story. Now, it happens that a magical core gets drained if you have cast a lot of powerful spells, and any witch or wizard with sense would then stop casting spells until their core has been filled again. That, however, isn’t always an option, and if you keep using magic after your core is drained, _then_ you get physically tired. Normally it isn’t even worth casting spells after your core is drained, as they will be weak, and you would only be able to cast a handful of them, depending on the difficulty and energy requirements, of course.”

It had been about a fortnight since the incident with the urgals, and Helena, Godric, and their new travel companions were now deep within the Spine. As Helena had promised, Eragon’s wrist had been fully healed by the sixth day, impressing even Brom. Still, as Brom taught Helena even to use a sword, it was decided that Eragon should learn how to use a sword with his left hand as well. The sad part was, that even with an obvious handicap, Eragon was still way better than Helena. Brom’s ‘teaching’ method was much like Snape’s had been; brutal, but effective. As much as Helena had disliked her old potions-teacher, she couldn’t deny that he had taught her more about Occlumency in a year than she would’ve learned elsewhere. Therefore, most nights Helena used on putting paste on her bruises so that they were healed for the next day. Helena was still useless with a sword, but at least she wasn’t a disaster anymore.

Magic had been a subject Brom had been hesitant to begin teaching her. At first Helena thought it was because he didn’t trust her enough yet – and fair enough if that had been the case –, but quickly learned it was because Riders usually weren’t taught magic so early. After seeing the stunt Eragon had pulled, Helena was inclined to be understanding of his decision. Fortunately, she was nothing if not stubborn, and Brom had finally agreed to sit down with her and at least teach her the basics – for nothing else, then to get some peace of mind from her. Eragon, who had already learned what Brom would go over, had gotten the afternoon off, and was now flying with the dragons.

“You’ve mentioned this ‘magical core’ before,” Brom brought her back to the present again. “Explain it.” Helena almost felt like rolling her eyes at the old storyteller's bluntness. If it hadn’t been because he had tricked her with the whole Neal act, she would’ve said subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

“First of all, it isn’t an actual core I have inside of my chest – or anywhere else in my body for that matter,” Helena pointed out. It had been a very embarrassing moment when she had asked Professor Flitwick where the core was located, in the middle of Third Year Charms. “But it acts much like a battery would.”

“A what?” Brom interrupted. Helena blinked. Oh, right, she wasn’t on Earth anymore. Though, if she had made that particular comparison around witches and wizards, she would’ve gotten just as confused looks. However, the magicals of this world, or at least Brom, seemed to have an innate understanding of the term ‘energy’.

“It’s a container that stores energy, electrical to be exact,” Helena explained. “The muggles use them to power their inventions and machines.” Alright, a gross simplification, but now wasn’t the time to get into that. “My magical core acts like that, but instead stores magic.”

Something akin to recognition flashed in Brom’s eyes, but he still looked... unsettled? Confused? She didn’t know. It was clear he wasn’t fully understanding – at least she didn’t think he was.

“Erm, okay, you know farming well, right?” Helena asked rhetorically, but Brom nodded nonetheless. “Imagine that the act of magic is hunger, and the energy required is the food you eat. Now, you and Eragon, when you use magic, you go out into the field and harvest just enough to satisfy you. I, on the other hand, have a barn where I store food, and I keep it filled to the brim at all times. When I get hungry, I eat from the food I have stored in the barn, and then it automatically gets filled with food harvested from the field. If I use up all the food I have in my barn, _then_ I go harvesting in the field and eat it directly.”

Brom frowned. “Alright, I’m following you so far. It actually makes a bit of sense.”

“It does?” Helena asked, surprised. She did roll her eyes this time, at the look Brom gave her. “I do not doubt your mental faculties, but even I had trouble wrapping my head around the concept at first. And if you had it hammered into your head that magic only works one particular way – meaning draining you physically directly –, then it isn’t always so easy to imagine other ways.”

“But the other way, your way of magic, actually isn’t completely foreign,” Brom pointed out. “I said that it makes sense, since your mind is similar to a dragon’s. Dragons, like you, are also capable of magic that seems impossible, both when it comes to the technical aspects, but also at the sheer energy-requirements. If they have a magical core as well, it would explain some things. And since your mind is only similar, but not identical, to dragons, it makes sense that you can access this core of yours when they can’t.”

“Huh,” Helena uttered in surprise. Then she shook her head, “But I think we’re getting a bit off track.”

“Indeed,” Brom agreed, and actually gave her a small smile. “But it sounds like your way of magic is similar to ours, the details are just different.”

Like different branches of magic, Helena supplemented in her mind. The Alagaësian branch and the... Gaian branch. Yes, that would do.

“That would mean that you _are_ able to teach me, yes?”

“I would think so, but one last test.” Brom picked up a stone and put it in her hand. “Repeat after me: Stenr rïsa.”

Helena blinked, and then did as she was instructed. “Stenr rïsa.” Dutifully, and with seeming ease, the small stone rose from her palm to levitate a few centimetres above it. Immediately Helena frowned.

“What is it?” Brom asked, having caught the crease in her brow right away.

“I’m not sure, it’s...” Helena started. She cut off the magic, and the stone fell. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she commanded, and again the stone rose, with as much ease as before. She cut off the magic again.

“Well?” Brom pressed, irritation present in his voice.

“When I use your branch of magic, it is like something foreign is imposing itself onto the spell,” Helena tried to explain. “When I first started learning magic, I was told that intent was the largest part of any enchantment. Wandweaving and incantation helped and directed the magic, but in the end it is the intent which decides the outcome of the spell. If a stray thought of frustration or excitement influences you, the spell could go awry.” It explained why Seamus so often had made small explosions, when all he wanted was to levitate a feather or make water into rum. “If I’m not mistaken, this foreign... presence, for a lack of a better word, makes sure my magic does what I’ve said it should do.”

There was a glint in Brom’s eye. “You’ve just discovered one of the fundaments of magic in Alagaësia.” Helena’s head tilted slightly to the right. “I’ve mentioned the Ancient Language briefly before.”

Helena nodded. “You said that it was the language of magic and the elves. You also mentioned something about a True Name. But you also said that it was a longer subject than just as such.”

“Indeed, and if I were to teach you all that I knew about it, we could sit here for weeks – and, no, that is not an offer,” Brom pointed at her with a hard stare. She snorted, but let him continue. “When it comes to magic here, the Ancient Language is _the_ language. When you say ‘stenr’, it isn’t just the word for stone, it is what stone _is_. If you know the word, then you control the object.”

Helena’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Brom inclined his head. “You must also understand, that it is impossible to lie when using it. Which means that when you say you’re going to do something in the Ancient Language, it is binding, a vow. You cannot go back on it, unless the vow has been worded as such that someone can release you from it.”

“Ok,” Helena nodded slowly. It wasn’t all to foreign, and it made sense. If the language irrefutably described objects, and it was steeped in magic, it made sense that you couldn’t use a word for what the object wasn’t. And as for the vows, there were lots of those on Earth; the most (in) famous was, of course, the Unbreakable Vow, but there were lots of less... permanent ones. So far so good, although... “Does the Ancient Language actually prevent you from going back on your vow, or does it simply have consequences?”

“There is nothing ‘simply’ about it,” Brom told her sternly. “There are a lot of, let’s say, shortcuts and evasion techniques. The Ancient Language doesn’t allow you to say something that you yourself don’t _believe_ to be true, but if others do believe it, they are able to say it. It is also possible to be deceived using half-truths – so if you ever require a vow from someone, make sure to word it correctly. But to answer your question, if you were to try and go directly against what you had vowed, the magic in the Ancient Language would prevent you from doing it. If you swore you would keep something secret, you simply wouldn’t be able to utter the words, no matter how hard you attempted to do it.”

“Hmm,” Helena hummed. She glanced up at Brom. “Was there a reason you wished to keep that information from Eragon, back when we had just left Teirm.”

“You might not have noticed, but that boy has as many questions as a beach has grains of sand,” Brom told her dryly. Helena let out a chuckle. “You told him yourself that he is learning all these things, but he is forgetting to ask himself if he _should_ do them. I’m teaching him bits and pieces.” He paused. “I take it this ‘Vow’ you mention is, in fact, similar to what I’ve just explained.”

“It is, and it isn’t. It’s called the Unbreakable Vow, though it is technically... breakable,” Helena told him wryly. “If you do break it, however, you die. It is as simple as that.”

Brom’s eyebrows rose several inches. “And you were willing to take such a vow?”

“I’m a woman of my word, Brom,” Helena told him seriously. “I make it a habit not to lie, and if there are subjects I’m not comfortable approaching, I say it is so. Besides, I was planning to swear that I meant you no harm _now_ – I would not say anything about the future.”

Brom’s lips twitched. “I would’ve probably called you out on that, but that is a non-issue now.”

“But back to this Ancient Language,” Helena brought them back to the subject. “You said that it was the language of the elves, so I take it is, in fact, a complete language?”

“It is. It isn’t the native language of the elves, however, so even they don’t know it’s full extent. But since each object has one True Name, they’ve discovered it by process of elimination.”

“Ok,” Helena answered, chewing lightly on her lower lip – a small habit she had developed over the years. “I think I understand. So, whenever a magical wants to use magic, they ideally describe what they want to happen in the Ancient Language, and if they have enough magic – energy –, it _will_ happen?”

“Correct,” Brom nodded.

Helena was, frankly, impressed. It would allow for an insane amount of control and precision for even a novice, who would only be limited by their knowledge of the Ancient Language and the amount of energy he had in his body. As she had mentioned, the Gaian branch relied much more on intent, and that was what a large part of her education had involved – learning to harness and direct her intent. While wizardkind still used incantations, even thought them when they cast their spells non-verbally, magic based on pure intent was possible: accidental magic was just that.

Helena frowned. “Back in Teirm, you used a spell to get me unconscious.”

“I used the word ‘slytha’ which means ‘sleep’,” Brom told her. Then he touched his nose. “Not that it was easy to capture you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Helena smirked, and Brom nodded. “But how come it was enough just to use ‘slytha’? Weren’t you in danger of accidentally putting yourself to sleep as well?”

“Generally, it is safer to use more words to describe the _exact_ action you want to take place, but as long as you know very clearly what you want, and you have some talent for it, you can accomplish much with very little,” Brom explained.

“So intent, mental flexibility, and ingenuity do make a difference?

“It does, but you would never be able to make the stone rise if you keep calling it a leaf, no matter how intent you are on it,” was Brom’s answer. Helena’s lips quirked.

“How do you defend against it?” Helena asked of him. “Back in Teirm I felt your magic seep into me, but I wasn’t able to fight it off.”

“You felt it?” Brom asked surprised. Helena nodded. “Hmm, well... A question for another time. As for your question, you would only be able to fight off a spell if you know _how_ it is affecting you – and as a rule of thumb, if you feel the spell taking its effect, it is already too late to do something.”

“What do you mean _how_ it is affecting me?”

“If I wanted to set fire to you, I could either gather the heat in the air, or I could focus the sun’s rays upon you, or I could create friction, or a dozen other ways,” Brom told her. “If you wanted to prevent that, you would need to make sure that the specific action can’t take place. It matters little if you manage to prevent the sun’s rays to focus on you, if I am using friction to put you on fire.”

“What if I were to simply prevent a fire from being able to appear?” Helena asked.

Brom snapped his fingers, “Precisely. You do have a knack for this, you know?”

Helena chuckled. “I’ve used magic for seven years now. The details have changed, but magic still required imagination.”

“Hmm, I guess that is true,” Brom conceded. “We’re moving into an area which is called a wizards’ duel, which I am not comfortable teaching about yet. You mentioned earlier that you wouldn’t stay put in a duel?”

“Why would you?” Helena asked with a raised eyebrow. “With spells flying around your ears, it is all too easy to get hit if you stay still.”

“Think back to how it felt when I put you to sleep in Teirm,” Brom instructed.

Helena frowned, but closed her eyes and thought back. It took a few moments, but her eyes widened in realisation. “There was no direction.”

“Correct,” Brom nodded. “While it is possible to, for example, create the fire and then throw it at your enemy, it is the norm to simply set your enemy on fire directly. Here we wouldn’t have duels where, as you put it, spells fly around your ears. A wizards’ duel here consists of breaking into an opponent’s mind, reading their thoughts, anticipating their action, and then countering their moves.”

“Why not simply attack your enemy? Take them by surprise?”

“Think about it,” Brom told her deadly serious. “Not taking your branch of magic into consideration, if you were to kill an enemy magician with magic, they would be able to cast a spell on you moments before they die. You wouldn’t know _how_ that spell will affect you, and thus you can’t counteract it – and you die as well. There are strict rules for duelling, rules which all magicians follow in Alagaësia. It isn’t like the Ancient Language where you _have_ to, but everyone knows that if they don’t follow the rules, the chances of both of the participants dying are near hundred.”

Helena grunted. “Yet another thing I need to navigate.”

“You do seem to have a knack for wards, though,” Brom pointed out.

“Wards? And how would that help?” Helena asked.

Brom’s right eyebrow rose. “You do not have personal wards on... Earth, was it?”

Helena slowly shook her heads. “We simply have ‘wards’: protective enchantments cast upon areas, buildings, or objects.”

“But not on people,” Brom finished. “Alright, well, if I were to say in the Ancient Language, ‘If the sun’s rays were to converge upon me, then this or that would happen to prevent it’, then it would happen since I said it in the Ancient Language while allowing it to anchor to my energy. If the sun’s ray then would converge upon me, it would then be prevented by the spell I had cast on myself. A personal ward.”

“You would have to cast an awful lot of personal wards to protect yourself against all imaginable attacks,” Helena pointed out.

“True, but since the wards would only drain you when one of those imaginable attacks happened, it is feasible. Though, again, it would only take one kind of attack you hadn’t imagined, for you to be injured.”

The more they talked about the differences between the Gaian and Alagaësian branches of magic, the more it became clear to Helena that she needed to learn both. They both have their strengths and weaknesses. The Alagaësian branch had precision and control, but lacked adaptability. It was also limited by the knowledge one possessed of the Ancient Language, and how much a person could imagine from one simple word or phrase. That also meant that casting spells of more obscure natures were near impossible – how does one describe a Patronus Charm, baring one’s soul, one’s happiness to the world? That was where the Gaian branch’s strength lies, that intent and feeling was enough to cast the spell. One could also just cast a spell to protect – like the Protego Charm –, and the spell would protect the caster from, for example, all kinds of attacks, and not only being shot at with arrows or being doused in fire.

That was also why the wards seemed to differ. There seemed to be... true wards and specific wards, Helena decided to call them. True wards where the ones she knew from home, which was only able to be cast on areas, buildings, or objects; they needed a more permanent anchor, and took energy when they were cast, and had a wide cast protection. Specific or personal wards _could_ be cast on areas, buildings, or objects, but also on livings things. Furthermore, they would only take energy when they were ‘activated’, and would only be activated by very specific things.

Helena sighed. “While I have my own magic, it seems like any run of the mill magician will be able to wipe the floor with me. If they attacked me with magic, I wouldn’t be able to counter it as I am now. Even if I won a wizards’ duel, I wouldn’t know _how_ to counteract a magical attack from an Alagaësian standpoint.”

“It’s not that bad,” Brom tried to soothe her – and if that wasn’t scary, Helena didn’t know what was. “Your own magic is as strange to them as theirs is to you. But if we ignore that, while you won’t be able to beat any shades, elves, and maybe the top percentage of magicians in the land, most magicians barely know even a few words of the Ancient Language.”

That made her freeze. She looked up to see if he was jesting with her. While it would be out of character for him, so was soothing her. But he wasn’t jesting with her.

“What?” Helena asked, baffled. “Why?”

“Knowledge is power for magicians,” Brom shrugged. “As you have guessed, if the Ancient Language was widely known, even the greenest of magicians would be able to do great things, by specifically saying what they want to happen in the Ancient Language. Very few give power away freely.”

“Nobody has written a dictionary of some sort and made it available?”

“Only the elves have such a thing.”

“What, and they don’t share?” Helena asked, feeling herself getting a bit worked up. The stir in her emotion was enough to gain the attention of Godric. “What about the Riders of the Order?”

Brom seemed to consider whether or not to answer her, but relented with a sigh. “The elves are... weary of humans at best. Galbatorix certainly hasn’t helped with that, but even before him they saw us as rash and impulsive. They don’t think they can entrust such powers with us. The Riders of the Order were much the same.”

Helena was about to blurt out that they were stuck up, but halted when a thought struck her. This world was not like her world. On Earth, they had a whole society of magicals, who could keep each other in check (ignoring Tom Riddle and Gellert Grindelwald). Magic was mostly bound to families, with the odd muggleborn here and there... But wasn’t that the same here, at least back then? There were a few humans who could do magic, but all the Riders, and all the elves could do magic – and wasn’t it kind of the Riders’ job to keep magic in check also?

“I would say that it sounds rather arrogant of them, but magic _is_ powerful,” Helena admitted. “It still sounds baffling to me, honestly.”

“I take that it is not such on Earth?” Brom asked curiously.

“A wizard once said, that it was the greatest sin of all to hoard knowledge without sharing,” Helena told him candidly. “I grew up in a time where that had been taken to heart. Merlin, I went to a school for seven years, to be _taught_ what all children in Great Britain were taught.  There were, of course, dangerous kinds that could only be accessed if you had permission, but even the Unforgivable Curses were taught as to warn about.”

“Unforgivable...?” Brom asked.

Helena’s stare hardened in a way that it didn’t often do. “They are called Unforgivable for a reason, Brom.” Then she could hear the hypocrisy in her own statement, and sighed. “They are three of the most powerful and sinister curses known to my kind. They are tools of the Dark Arts, and if you cast them even one time, you get your wand confiscated, and a one-way ticket to Azkaban – the wizarding prison. Please... don’t ask more about them.”

Brom stilled, then nodded. “Alright. It is time we get back on task, either way.”

“Before we do that,” Helena jumped in. “Eragon mentioned the different magicals here in Alagaësia back in Teirm, and I would still like to know the difference between them.”

“First of all, when referring to magic-users as a whole, the term is magicians,” Brom started. “Now, magicians are people who are born with the natural ability to manipulate magic – though their capability of utilising this ability differs wildly. Magicians are also called spellweavers, but they are the same thing. A Rider automatically becomes a magician when they bond with a dragon. Now, sorcerer is a term for a magician who uses spirits to accomplish magic that is beyond the individual, and witches and wizards, as I imagine what you were truly curious about, are magicians who try to enhance their powers through the concoctions of various potions and elixirs.”

“Not the same as home, huh?” Helena asked.

“Did you truly expect that, after what we have discovered about you?” Brom asked her earnestly.

“I guess not,” Helena sighed. “But you can’t blame me for hoping.”

“Hope is never something that can be blamed,” was Brom’s answer. There was a tone to his voice that she couldn’t identify, but felt far too personal to inquire about. Brom shook his head, “Now, when using magic, it is important to...”

~ BWaC ~

Helena groaned as she sat down by the campfire. She had sparred with Brom for almost two hours, and while she did surprise him when had accidentally cast the Protego Charm, he had quickly told her to cut it out, and they had returned to beating up Helena with a stick. She didn’t hesitate, and reached for her bag and retrieved the balm from it. As she began smearing it out on the largest bruise, she let out a large hiss, making Eragon chuckle. She sent him a glare for that.

“At least you have that amazing balm to heal you up during the night,” Eragon pointed out to her. “I had to do without.”

Helena grunted. “If he would only let me use the Protego Charm...”

“As impressive as it is,” Brom broke into their conversation. “The aim with our sparring lessons are, actually, to spar and not to cast spells.”

Helena gave him a dead look. “You just like beating around on helpless opponents, don’t you?”

Godric snorted. ‘ _You are anything but helpless._ ’

There was a moment of silence, then Helena gaped at her partner. “You’re taking his side?”

‘ _Choosing between having you learn a vital skill and having you hurt for a bit, or risk your life when you can’t protect yourself... Yeah, I’m taking his side.’_

Helena scoffed, “Some partner you are.”

‘ _It was you who threw me out from a tree to teach me how to fly_.’

“You did _what_?” it came from Brom, as Eragon simply gaped.

“The ground was cushioned,” Helena rolled her eyes. “What do you think I am? An absolute monster?”

“Well, in the morning-.“ Brom started, but was interrupted when a piece of fox, which had previously lain on his plate, flew into his mouth. He gave Helena a dead look. She simply smirked at him, her hand still outstretched from the small act of magic. He began chewing on the meat over-exaggeratedly, making the witch-turned-Dragon Rider roll her eyes.

“Here,” Eragon told her after a few minutes, handing her a book. “I finished it while you were sparring.”

“What did you think?” Helena asked, taking the book back from him. It was Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.

“Fascinating,” Eragon answered her. “There were still a lot of things I didn’t understand, but I think it has more to do with me not knowing some of the things that were referred to, than me not knowing what a word meant.”

“It’s one of my favourite textbooks,” Helena admitted. “Care of Magical Creatures has never been a passion of mine, but I loved taking Hagrid’s classes.”

“It must’ve been amazing to go to school,” Eragon said, not even trying to hide the wistfulness in his voice. “To have so many subjects taught to you, and be able to learn anything you wanted.” It was easy to see that the visit to Jeod had fed the flame of curiosity which had always been present in Eragon.

“It really was,” Helena admitted. “Hogwarts was my first true home.”

“Is that why you wanted to become a teacher?” Eragon asked. Helena bit down a curse, as the subject from weeks before arose again.

“You wanted to become a teacher?” Brom asked with as much surprise as Eragon had.

“Why does everyone have such a hard time imagining me as a teacher?” Helena asked exasperatedly.

‘ _You did throw Godric out of a tree to teach him how to fly,_ ’ Saphira pointed out with mirth.

“I already said the ground was cushioned. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

‘ _I didn’t know that,_ ’ Godric told her in a mock-traumatic voice. ‘ _I still have nightmares._ ’ That made the others in the camp break out in chuckles.

“I hate you all. Deeply. And thoroughly,” Helena told them.

“No, but really,” Eragon asked again after he had regained his breath. “Becoming a teacher? Did Hogwarts have anything to do with it?”

“Yeah, sure it did,” Helena answered. “Growing up, almost everyone around me expected me to either become an auror or another ministry-worker, and since I could not imagine going into politics, I aimed to become an auror.”

“Auror?” It was Brom, who asked.

“They are...” She couldn’t exactly say wizarding police, as there was no police present in Alagaësia. “The law enforcement for wizards and witches. It was a rather prestigious job, and greatly respected. I thought for sure it was for me. But in fifth year I began teaching a couple of my fellow students Defence Against the Dark Arts – magical self-defence, essentially –, and found out that I really liked it and that I was _good_ at it.”

“You seem to be good at a lot of things,” Eragon said in astonishment at her tone of voice.

“Perhaps now, but it was not always such,” Helena told him. “I worked hard to become proficient in many things, but there were few things where I truly just, you know, clicked. Quidditch was one of those – a magical sport taking place on flying broomsticks, which would take too long to explain –, and I had considered going into that career for a while, but I loved flying more than the sport itself. Then there was Transfiguration, a magical art that focuses on the alteration of the form or appearance of an object, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. And then teaching.”

‘ _Don’t sell yourself short, Little One,_ ’ Saphira pointed out. ‘ _You have your talents as well. You were the best hunter in Carvahall, and thus has great talent with your bow and arrows. And Brom has complimented you on your swordsmanship many times._ ’ Brom grunted in agreement. Eragon smiled at that, and Helena was glad for it.

“What then, made you finally decide on becoming a teacher?” Eragon turned to her.

“Hogwarts was definitely a factor,” Helena admitted. “As I said, it was my first true home, and there were times where I thought I would be content never leaving the Castle. Apart from that, it was just a gut feeling. It just truly clicked. It was in the middle of one of my lessons, that a random thought popped into my head: I thought, if I spend the rest of my life doing this – teaching others –, I would be content. At the end of the year, I went to Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House, and told her. She was very supportive of it, and during my Sixth Year, I took lessons with her to develop my skills, and even managed to assist her in teaching a few First and Second Year classes. Of course, since I also had lessons with Professor Dumbledore, my timetable became rather full, but it was worth it.”

“I never imagined myself to be anything other than a farmer when I grew up,” Eragon admitted. “Roran was going to inherit the farm from Uncle Garrow, as was his right, but I never imagined myself doing anything else. I had a plan of joining the Traders in a year or two; I would hunt while I was with them, and sell what had hunted – meat, bones, horns, whatever could be sold. When I returned to Carvahall, I would claim a piece of land and build a home myself.”

“I never saw you build anything in your life,” Brom noted with amusement.

Eragon blushed. “I guess I really haven’t.”

“Eragon the farmer,” Helena rolled the words on her tongue. She smiled. “Yeah, I could see it happening. It fits.”

“Thanks,” Eragon chuckled in embarrassment, scratching himself on the right cheek. Then his smile fell. “It’s not going to happen now, though.” He sighed deeply.

Disapproval hit Helena from Godric’s mind, and she turned to him just in time to see him roll his eyes. He got up, turned around, and rolled together with his back to the group.

‘ _Godric..._ ’ Helena sighed through their connection, thankful that her partner had at least only sent his disapproval of Eragon to her.

‘ _There is no use in moping around, wishing for something that can’t be,_ ’ Godric told her. ‘ _You might not be able to get home again, and the chances of you becoming a teacher – at least the kind of teacher you imagined yourself being – is next to nothing. Yet, you’re not hesitating to embrace this new life that has been thrust upon you._ ’

‘ _It’s not exactly the first time it has happened to me,_ ’ Helena told him blandly, and then sighed. ‘ _My Heart, please try not to be so hard on him-._ ’

‘ _I would say that you’re not nearly hard enough on him.’_

‘ _Godric,_ ’ Helena said in a firmer tone. Godric seemed to wince, and then sigh himself.

‘ _I will **attempt** to see some usefulness in your two-leg counterpart._ ’

Helena sighed. At Brom’s and Eragon’s questioning glances – they had apparently been following her and Godric’s silent conversation – she simply shook her head. It was not something either of them had the right to be involved in, nor something they could actually help with.

“While being a farmer might not be an option anymore, new paths have opened themselves to you,” Helena pointed out to Eragon. “Give it time.”

“I guess,” Eragon agreed hesitantly.

~ BWaC ~

The days began to blend together for Helena, as they turned into weeks, and the weeks, in turn, turned into months. Before the witch-turned-Dragon Rider had looked around, they were in the middle of February. Despite how much she did each and every day, from training with her sword to training magic (both her own branch, and learning the Alagaësian branch from Brom), to training her strategic mind, Helena didn’t feel that two months should’ve flown by so fast. But they had.

Helena had improved in some areas, but not as much as she would’ve liked. As it was, she doubted she would be able to survive an encounter with the Ra’zac. While she didn’t know what these Ra’zac were, other than the explanation Brom and Eragon had given her (which had been rather light on details), she did know that they wouldn’t go down as easy as the urgals had. She was getting better with magic, both branches, but she was perhaps only at O.W.L.-level when it came to the Gaian branch if even that. That was even without counting Transfiguration, which fine control meant she was perhaps at a Third Year-level, and Transfiguration had been her biggest strength before bonding to Godric. Of course, there was her animagus ability, which was sure to surprise her opponents, but transforming into her dire wolf form opened up as many weaknesses as it protected. And when it came to the more physical aspect of fighting, her stamina was barely passable: she had to take many more breaks than Eragon, and her swordsmanship was still laughable. While these facts, because they were facts, didn’t make her happy, it made her all the more determined, and made her work that much harder.

Their journey to Dras-Leona was a slow one, much of it spent in the mountains. The biggest concern, if they strayed too close to any well-travelled roads, was that either Saphira or Godric would be spotted, but Helena wasn’t exactly inconspicuous either. It was not just uncommon that girls trained and learned to fight, it was all but unheard of. That meant that when they _did_ take to the roads, Helena had to dress up in the clothes she had bought in Teirm, and which were completely impractical to fight in. If that had been the end of it, then it might have been bearable, but she also had to act as a submissive little woman who only dreamed of being in the kitchen making food while she gave birth. Alright, that was a bit (or a lot) of an exaggeration, as neither men she travelled with thought as such, but it grated her to hide herself. And, really, all she needed to do when they travelled on the road, was _not_ to give any reasons to make others suspicious of her, but still... It didn’t take a genius to guess that Helena preferred to stay off the roads, where she could be herself.

Brom’s lessons in how to handle a sword didn’t lessen in brutality. They still mostly consisted in Brom, and to a lesser extent Eragon now that he had beaten Brom in a duel, pummelling her in fencing duels. According to the old storyteller, she was even worse than Eragon when he started. The boy in question had been caught between beaming at not being the worst, and not wanting to antagonise Helena as he had learned how vindictive she could be when antagonised. But, really, it wasn’t surprising: wizards and witches weren’t exactly well-known for their athleticism. Eragon had grown up hunting and farming, using a lot of muscles. He had even had some mock fencing duels with his cousin (not that they helped much). So Helena accepted that Eragon was, and probably always would be, better than her when handling a sword, and she accepted Brom’s brutal ‘lessons’. And they helped. She knew they helped, as she slowly but surely lasted longer and longer in the duels, and had even made a hit on Eragon once. _Once_. That had been a good day.

Learning about the Alagaësian branch of magic was both easy and hard for the same reason: she had prior experience. It made it easier, as she had no problem imagining what magic could do and what she wanted it to do. But on the other hand it made it harder, as she already had set ideas that had been hammered into her head through six years of magical education. Some things which were absolute when it came to the Gaian branch of magic, weren't necessarily so through the Alagaësian branch. Helena still had a hard time letting go of intent being all-important, at least when it came to the Alagaësian branch; speaking the Ancient Language almost seemed to _make_ the incantation the intention.

There were times where Helena doubted if she would ever achieve true mastery over the Alagaësian branch of magic. And while the stubborn part, the curious part, of her wanted to keep going until she had achieved it, the logical part reminded her that there was no true need for mastery. While the Gaian and Alagaësian branches of magic had some differences, they did indeed spring from the same source – thus why Helena referred to them as two different branches. They were compatible. Alone, each branch had its own strengths and weaknesses, but if she somehow managed to blend them together – and, honestly, at the moment Helena had no clue exactly how she should do that –, well... She got _very_ giddy just thinking about it.

The Gaian branch she almost had a full education on, and she only needed to regain her control. The Alagaësian branch, however... Brom _was_ willing and able to teach her some things, but Helena knew enough about magic to know when some things were left out. They were half-truths, half-finished, the things Brom taught her and Eragon. A lot of the questions she asked he either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Just like she still had a hard time letting go some of the rules of the Gaian branch of magic, Brom also had a hard time accepting that she was ready to learn more when it came to the Alagaësian branch. While Helena had tried to explain her magical core to him, he still didn’t understand it, and Helena didn’t blame him – it was like trying to explain colours to a man who had forever been blind. Still, what Brom taught was enough to start her off with, so that she didn’t have to start from scratch when she finally made it to the elves.

The strategy lessons also continued. Unlike how Eragon was leagues better than her with a sword, and how they were about the same in regards to Alagaësian magic, Helena was much better when it came to the strategy lessons – and that was even after Brom had requested that she didn’t use the Gaian branch of magic in the scenarios. It was a bit strange, being the smart one. She had never been perceived as stupid, and she had kept good grades through a lot of studying and hard work, but she had never been smart like Hermione. But then again, being good at making strategies perhaps didn’t make her smart, but instead clever. Just like Ron. Some of him must have rubbed off on her over the years.

Even if Helena was much better than Eragon, the younger boy did get better as the weeks passed. Bar a few instances where his foolhardiness showed, he seemed to have taken both hers and Brom’s words to heart. He tried to be better. Helena had been surprised when she had found out, that it wasn’t just Brom he wanted to please, but also her. Though, Helena had never seen Brom’s compliments making Eragon blush and stutter.

That was another thing that had changed. Eragon’s infatuation with her. It wasn’t that he had stopped looking at her when he thought she didn’t notice it (thankfully, nothing perverted), but he wasn’t so… bubbly and stuttering. It was as if the more he got to know her, the more real she became, and the less like a fantasy she seemed (again, nothing perverted). Whereas at the start he had looked at her with dreamy eyes of awe, now he looked more at her like a colleague, like his fellow Dragon Rider. It was nice. And, ironically, the less he seemed to want her romantically, the more she felt comfortable letting her guard down and opening up to him. Brom, of course, was also more than happy about the development.

Finally, she was getting used to the different sensation when using the _Gaian_ branch of magic. It still felt weird to have her magic flow through the mark on her hand instead of a wand, but now that she had gotten over the shock, she felt much more connected with her magic. She wasn’t sure if that was because she was more or less (probably less) using wandless magic, or because she was drawing on two branches of magic. She wasn’t at the level she had been with her wand – as was mentioned, she was only about O.W.L.-level at the moment –, but she was comfortable enough that she wasn’t in danger of blowing up things she didn’t mean to. That didn’t satisfy her, however, and that meant more training.

“Wingardium leviosa,” Helena said the incantation of the Levitation Charm, her arm waving towards the three pebbles on the ground which she was utterly focused on. The effect was immediate, and the pebbles rose into the air, defying gravity with the help of magic. “Engorgio,” the witch-turned-Dragon Rider continued, waving her marked hand in the same manner she would have with a wand. Deep groaning sounded as the pebbles expanded exponentially, quickly growing from pebbles to what could only be described as small boulders. Helena smirked satisfactorily, and let the small boulders levitate in the air for a few moments.

Helena took a deep, calming breath, the entirety of her concentration focused on the three boulders which were lazily levitating around each other in a small circle. Cracking her neck, Helena dug into her magical core and let it flow through her entire being. As a result, the air right around her hummed lightly, and the gedwëy insignia lit up like a beacon.

“Depulso!” Helena cried, making a flinging motion with her left hand. The three boulders flew out over at speeds which approached the ridiculous. Narrowing her eyes as she followed the path the boulders were flying, she grit her teeth, hoping that maybe this time she would succeed. “Reducto! Diffindo! Bombarda!” each spell was thrown at a respective boulder, Helena twisting and spinning between each spell, as she would most likely be needed to do in the middle of a battle. The three streams of light, all being shades of ruby rather than the dark blue, hot pink, and light blue they would’ve been before her bonding with Godric, flew over the surface of the water at speeds many times of that of the boulders. They hit their targets. The combined effect of the three spells all but obliterating the three boulders resulted in a resounding boom which could probably be heard for miles.

“Yes!” Helena cheered loudly, jumping up and down as a bright smile lit up her face. What she had just done was an exercise invented by herself, which would only be possible to complete when she had a somewhat proper (read: N.E.W.T.-level) handle on the Gaian branch of magic. Or something similar to a proper handle. In the two months she had travelled with Brom, Eragon, Saphira, and Godric, she had never been able to complete it, not once. She had been close, for sure, and when she missed, she had at times sworn so heavily that Eragon had always been left with an expression that was somewhere between being in awe and being frightened shitless. Either one or all of the spells missed, or else she had misjudged the power and the spells either hadn’t worked or had worked too well. If there were only enemies amongst her targets, the latter part didn’t matter too much, but if innocents stood nearby, it wouldn’t do any good for them to getting hit by the effects of her spells. But she had finally succeeded.

‘ _Well done,_ ’ Godric’s voice boomed in her mind. She looked over at where he lay, and was surprised to see Eragon standing beside him as well. His jaw was left slightly ajar, before it snapped together, and he looked at her with... something she couldn’t identify.

“That was incredible,” Eragon told her, the earnestness all but shining from him.

“Yeah, well,” Helena smiled crookedly at him. “It’s all I can hope for, for now at least.”

Eragon shot her an understanding smile. It was now several weeks since she had vented her frustrations at him, so he knew what she meant.

Stretching to try and get some of the tension, which had accumulated during her practice, out of her body, the hem of her shirt lifted slightly to reveal about an inch of her stomach. Helena rolled her eyes at the way Eragon’s eyes had immediately flown there, before he turned beet-red and turned to very determinedly look out over the lake. Deep chuffing sounds emanated from Godric with accompanying smoke coming out of his nostrils, revealing him to be laughing. Eragon shot him a glare.

It wasn’t even as if she was wearing revealing clothes – _at all_. But, then again, to Eragon who was used to seeing women and girls around him wearing dresses, it might be a bit different. She wore a simple pair of brown pants, a shirt which had once been green, but was now a bit faded, and a pair of shoes. It wasn’t even hers: they had nicked it from a farm around Teirm. She personally would’ve preferred to wear her own clothes – By Godric’s Courage she missed wearing denim, or any piece of clothing she was comfortable in –, but Brom had talked her out of it. No one would be surprised when she said that she looked forward to the day that she could be well and truly herself again.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Helena asked, deciding to dismiss the thoughts in her head. She turned away from the lake and made her way over towards Eragon and Godric, the former still fighting down his blush. “I thought you were having another tactical lesson with Brom?”

Eragon flinched, finally returning to his normal colour. “I was, but he sent me here to get you.”

Helena frowned in confusion, glancing briefly at the sun to check its position. No, she hadn’t lost track of time. But then she couldn’t figure out why Brom would send for her: they had had a semi-permanent routine since they had decided to stay in the mountains for an extended period of time, and she always used this time of day on practising her own branch of magic. The only reason he would send for her this early, was if... Helena’s eyes widened in understanding.

“It’s time, then?” Helena stated more than asked. Eragon nodded with a grim expression on his face.

It was finally time to continue the hunt for the Ra’zac.

“Eragon, are you...?”

“I just want to get it over with,” he answered. Then his expression hardened. Helena didn’t like how he looked like that: he was much more handsome smiling. “They’re going to pay for what they did.” It wasn’t just a statement. It was more akin to a promise or a vow. Like the one she had made when Bellatrix had killed Sirius... and look where that had gotten her. Eragon wouldn’t end up in that state, if she had anything to say about it.

Knowing that there was nothing else she could do there, she settled with smiling sadly to him, squeezing his hand lightly. He looked startled at the action, but smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here you go: an almost completely new chapter. While some of you might recognise the latter fourth of the chapter, the first three-fourths are only just written. There is a lot of exposition in this chapter, but as it is about the difference between the Gaian and Alagaësian branches of magic, I hope you don’t mind too much. I also managed to write another scene that was a bit lighter to show the relationships between the characters, and hope I managed to do just that.  
> The new chapters, I can rightly admit, has been influenced by Najex’s story. The first time the story was written, as I said, it was simply summarised. A lot of people has, however, requested a bit more insight into the two different branches of magic, and while I planned to do it later, I could just as well do it now. You can expect throughout the story for there to be more and more details about it, but I’m getting off track. If you think that the scenes are a bit similar, then, for once, it is me that has taken inspiration from Najex’s story, and credit should be given where credit is due.  
> Now, please tell me if some things seem redundant, or if I have mentioned the same thing over and over again. Some of the things talked about in the first two scenes, were originally just summarised at the beginning of the last scene. I’ve tried going through it to catch any outright repeats, but I can’t be sure. And, as always, I would be happy if you would point out any grammar mistakes and such – I will try to correct them as quickly as I can.  
> You can also expect the next chapter to have expanded or entirely new scenes. While the chapter lengths have generally laid above 8k words, and more often than not 9k words, my personal ‘least limit’ for a chapter is 7k words. Since I stole the last scene here from the first scene there, there are currently ‘only’ 4,5k words in that chapter. That also means I must spend a bit of time on it, but I hope that will be alright with all of you; after all, you will be getting new content.  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> Ancient Language Translations:  
> Stenr rïsa – Stone, rise!


	9. A Faraway Place Called Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have been in other places than Carvahall, boy,” Brom answered amused.  
> “Yes, I know, but-“  
> “Did you think that I spawned from a rock in the Spine, and wandered there gathering my stories, until I was old enough to be respected by the villagers? No, I’ve had a whole life you’ve no idea about.”  
> Eragon pouted as he crossed his arms. “Never mind.”  
> Helena watched the exchange with mirth. “Personally, I don’t find it so hard to believe that you spawned from a rock. It would explain a lot, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Helena’s face scrunched together at the sound of the alarm clock. Her hand was quickly on it, setting it to snooze for another few minutes. She wriggled herself deeper into the warmth of her mattress and duvet, not ready to chase away the lingering of sleepiness that still clung to her body. She sighed deeply in content, and-.

“Miss Helena.”

“Noooooo,” Helena groaned. She turned around, pulling her pillow over her head as she did. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and a hope sprung forth in the witch’s chest that she was left be. Then small hands tugged at her duvet.

“Miss Helena,” the squeaky voice repeated. “You told Dobby to wake you no matter what. Dobby is waking you, miss.”

Helena turned her head and lifted the pillow enough to see Dobby’s face inches from hers. By now that she had gotten used to that kind of greeting in the morning, but, Merlin, Dobby had frightened her more than once earlier on in his employment. The house elf was one the sweetest, bravest, most trustworthy of Helena’s friends, but in the morning his tea-cup-sized eyes and bat-like ears could be a shock.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Helena sighed out as she managed to sit up in the bed. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that her hair was an absolute mess. While she might have inherited a few light red highlights from her mother along with her eyes, the rest truly was inherited from her father – and that included the unruly hair. Helena yawned and stretched on the bed, “Would you please prepare me a cuppa?”

“Of course, miss Helena,” Dobby smiled brightly, happy to have something to do. As his bare feet pitter-pattered across the wooden floors, it made Helena smile as well. Taking him in was the right choice, not that she had doubted it for more than a few moments.

She had used the term ‘employment’, although that wasn’t technically true. Dobby, like all house elves, required a Bond to stay alive, either through a wizard or witch, a magical family, or a magical location. Dobby had already had such a bond with Hogwarts, but had knocked on her door in Hogsmeade the day she had moved in, asking to serve her. Helena still paid him twelve Galleons a week (a raise from the ten Galleons a week he had earned at Hogwarts), and had him wear actual clothes, so that he might leave whenever he felt like it. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

Getting out of bed, showering, and sipping her morning tea as she looked out at the main shopping street of Hogsmeade, Helena felt herself getting excited. It was Luna’s birthday, and a celebration had been arranged to be held at the Burrow (the Lovegood family house still standing in ruins). Helena was, of course, happy to be celebrating one of her closest friends, but it also, for some peculiar reason, felt like she hadn’t seen _any_ of her friends for so long. Surely, she had no-one to blame but herself; Helena could admit that she might’ve isolated herself a bit after the War ended.

The witch winced at an uncomfortable feeling in her left palm. Scratching it without looking, it soon went away, and Helena went about preparing for the upcoming celebration.

By the time Helena was dressed and ready – nothing too fancy; they were all friends, and no one cared too much about that stuff –, the small party was just about to start. She grabbed the gift she had gotten for Luna, a signed copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (the closest thing Helena had been able to find that Luna could actually use), bid Dobby farewell for the day, and apparated to the Burrow after exiting the anti-apparation wards.

The fresh spring air of Ottery St Catchpole ruffled her raven locks as she walked down the road, a decidedly skip in her step. The Burrow’s tall and lanky frame rose at the end of the gravel road, and a feeling of being home washed over her. Hogwarts might’ve been her first true home, but the Burrow has been just as important to Helena. The Weasleys had all but taken her in, had cared for her, had worried for her, and she felt she was a part of them – raven locks instead of scarlet be damned.

A din of voices and laughter reached her ears as she entered the grounds through the gates. She caught sight of a garden gnome skittering out of sight in the corner of her eye, and chuckled to herself. Molly must be driven crazy by them back, especially after the thorough cleaning they had all done when the Weasleys moved back to the Burrow after the war.

A mass of brown hair in her face interrupted any further thoughts. Her first instincts were to tense up and reach for her wand, but logic quickly caught up and convinced her otherwise.

“Helena, it’s so good to see you,” Hermione smiled brightly when she was done hugging. “You’re the last one to arrive.”

“Heh,” Helena chuckled embarrassedly, scratching herself on her cheek. She stopped for a moment with a frown, wondering where she had picked up that habit. Shaking the thought from her head, she replied, “Sorry, Hermione. Dobby had to kick me out of bed this morning.”

“Only this morning?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow. At Helena’s telltale grin, the bushy-haired witch rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Helena.”

“Oi, I think I deserve to sleep in,” Helena defended herself. Hermione’s answer was a good-hearted shake of her head. Helena’s grin widened, and she grasped her best friend’s arm and walked into the Burrow.

A chorus of ‘hellos’ hit her, and people came over to greet her. Molly was the first one there, somehow making it across the room from the kitchen in the blink of an eye. Had it not been because of how much Helena knew Molly loved her children, the raven-haired witch would be sure that the mother-of-seven had elbowed and kneed a few people to get there.

“It’s so good to see you, Helena,” Molly greeted her. She looked her up and down and tsk’ed, “I had hoped with a house elf you would eat properly, but you’re still as skinny as ever.”

“I’m eating fine, Molly,” Helena answered exasperatedly. Honestly, she loved the woman like a second mother (or first, seeing as she didn’t really remember her own mother), but it was sometimes tiring with how much she cared about Helena’s weight.

“Blimey, mum, give the woman some room to breathe,” Ron’s voice rung out. “Let her get through the door first and get off her coat – then you can put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Oh, you,” Molly blushed, mock slapping her youngest son on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Ron, really,” Helena drawled. Ron grinned, and after a moment, standing looking at each other, they hugged tightly. Ron, her other best friend, and her first true friend.

“I hope you’re finally crawling out of that rabbit hole of yours,” Ron told her.

Helena rolled her eyes. “At least those damned reporters can’t get there. You would think-“

Whatever Helena was about to say fled from her mind as she felt like she was punched in the stomach. Fred and George had just walked into the room. _Fred_ and George. Fred, who had been like a protective brother to her. Fred, who had then _not_ been like a protective brother to her, and had gotten to know her. Fred, who had been the first to actually gather the courage to ask her to the Christmas Ball in her Fourth Year. Fred, who she had had hidden moments with, in the darker corners of Hogwarts Castle before he had fled on a broomstick with his twin. Fred, who she had rebuffed after the darkening of the Wizarding World. _Fred, who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts_.

Fred, who she had oh so many regrets about.

Helena sat up gasping and sweat drenching her form. With blurry eyes, it took her a few moments to focus her surroundings, and realise where she was.

A smouldering fire was burning in the middle of the clearing. Three horses stood tied to a tree nearby, snoozing lightly. Eragon was laid snoring lightly across the small fire, hugging his blanket like it was a stuffed animal of some sort. At the edge of the camp sat Brom, looking out beyond the reaches of the light of the campfire. Saphira lying not far beside Brom, closed eyes and in deep slumber. And Godric was not far beside her, now with a raised head and concerned eyes aimed towards her.

Helena felt gutted; She wasn’t home.

‘ _Dear One,_ ’ Godric’s voice sounded in her mind, and she was vaguely aware of him rising and making his way towards her. She was occupied by trying to beat the feelings back into submission. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that crap.

Merlin, she thought she had sorted it out.

‘ _It is alright,_ ’ Godric told her, and he was suddenly in front of her. Warm air blew over her face as he exhaled through his nostrils, and he leaned down to look her in the eyes. His blue eyes conveyed sympathy and hurt for her.

‘ _Godric,_ ’ Helena said.

“Is everything alright?” Brom asked.

Helena’s eyes widened. She didn’t want him to see her like this; she didn’t want _anyone_ to see her like this.

“Everything’s fine,” Helena answered him, wincing as her voice was anything but. She bit down hard on her lower lip, ironically to stop herself from whimpering. Damn it, she was a grown woman. She wasn’t going to cry because she missed her home. She wasn’t going to cry, because she missed Fre-.

Helena stood up, quickly grabbing a cloak from her bag. “I’m going flying.”

Brom’s eyebrows shot straight up. “What are you-.”

Helena didn’t get to hear the rest, already having mounted Godric. Thank Merlin that she had been taught how to make a saddle a few weeks before (as postponed as it was). Her partner didn’t need to be told anything: he spread his wings, tensed his legs, and took off. Helena saw the horses wake with a fright, and as did Eragon, but right now all Helena cared about was being left alone. And, yes, Godric was included in that ‘alone’.

Godric didn’t say anything right away. In fact, he didn’t say anything for what felt like hours, as they glided high above the ground. Had it not been for the thick cloak and heating charm, Helena was sure to have been left with her teeth chattering, but instead, she was left with her thoughts.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ Helena told Godric.

The ruby dragon turned his head as to be able to look at her. He blinked once. ‘ _You have nothing to be sorry about.’_ He paused. ‘ _What happened?_ ’

‘ _I..._ ’ The dream – calling it a nightmare wouldn’t be fair, would it? – Flashed across her mind, and through the link to Godric. He still for a moment under her. Fred’s face was left almost lifelike in front of her. ‘ _I was blindsided._ ’

‘ _You miss them.’_ Godric stated, and then hesitated again. ‘ _You’ve mentioned Fred many times, but never in detail. Who was he?’_

Helena felt sorrow well up inside of her.

‘ _Fred was... what could have been,_ ’ Helena answered, fighting against the tears rising in her eyes. ‘ _I had many friends, close and not so close, but none of them was quite like him.’_

_‘Was he your mate?’_

Helena let out a watery laugh. ‘ _Not quite. We had moments, and heavy moments, but nothing that would qualify to call him my mate... boyfriend._ ’ She shook her head. ‘ _Sometimes I regret that._ ’

Thinking about would-have-beens was dangerous. And it killed her inside, finding all the hurt and longing for home she had hidden away after Godric had hatched, and brought it to the forefront of her mind. She immediately tried to beat it down again.

‘ _Dear One,_ _don’t do that to yourself._ ’

For the first time since Godric hatched, for the first time in four months, Helena cried. Far above the ground, far away from anyone able to hear her, and in the safe hands of Her Heart, she cried.

~ BWaC ~

Helena rolled her neck, making it crack sickeningly. Eragon and Brom looked at her with respectively mirth and annoyance.

“Are you all right over there?” Brom asked gruffly, looking increasingly annoyed with her. She knew why: that hadn’t been the first time she had done something ‘unladylike’, which he had asked her _not_ to behave as.

“I’m fine,” Helena answered, rolling her shoulders, trying to get some of the discomfort out of her sore joints. Perhaps if she weren’t riding on Alfsigr, she might have a chance at it, especially if she could talk Eragon into massaging her shoulders... though he might just pass out from the blush that would give him. “Are you sure we can’t stop in an inn just for a single night? I would kill to sleep in a bed. I can give you money if that’s what you need.”

“I’ve already said no,” Brom dismissed. “We have a plan, and I’m not going to diverge from it. You can sleep in a bed when we get to Dras-Leona. Besides, the boy wants to get there as soon as possible.” The last part was said with a slight nod towards Eragon, as if she didn’t know who he was talking about.

“I don’t mind,” Eragon spoke up. “It might not be a bad idea, Brom.”

Brom threw him an annoyed look. “We’re staying on the road, and that’s that. And would you stop that!” Helena, while Brom had been talking, had started cracking her knuckles. “You’ll only draw attention to us!”

“From who?” Helena asked, exasperated. “There is no-one for miles around. Besides, it’s probably not my cracking knuckles which are going to set me apart, but my strange looks and accent. And no,” the witch-turned-Dragon Rider held up a finger to silence Brom before he had started talking, “I am not going to stay silent for the whole duration of our stay there! You might be used to women just doing what is told around these parts, staying in the kitchen to give birth to babies while they cook, but I’m not going to just roll over and play a good dog! I’m a human being!”

Brom’s jaw snapped shut. He narrowed his eyes at her before looking decidedly forward. Yes, she and Brom weren’t best buds. It wasn’t as if they hated each other, and perhaps if they had met under other circumstances – for example where she didn’t need to hide – they might even have developed _some_ sort of relationship. But as it was, she found how the old storyteller wanted her to act like a little lapdog when they weren’t alone sickening and humiliating. Helena _did_ trust Brom, and Brom trusted her... well, he trusted her as much as he was able to trust anyone. That’s what mattered.

Brom, understandably, had also been in a mood since her midnight flight. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew something had been wrong. Helena didn’t remember returning to the camp, but woke up under Godric’s wing. The old storyteller had berated her for her carelessness, and Eragon had tried to get her to talk. Helena had been too drained to care for either. A part of her still was, if she was honest.

“You judge too harshly.” Eragon’s voice had a hard edge to it, and when she turned to him, she realised he was angry with her. That was a first: while he hadn’t quite so obviously tried to please her as he had after they had just met, Helena didn’t doubt that his crush was still there.  Eragon continued, “All the women of Carvahall were strong. Given, not strong like you, but strong nonetheless. And there is _nothing_ wrong with wanting to have a family.”

Helena’s eyes flashed, and Eragon looked appalled for a moment. But he gathered his strength and looked straight back at her.

“My judgement is sound, thank you very much,” Helena bit out at him. “I know there is nothing wrong with wanting to have a family, and there is nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mum. Molly Weasley is a mother of seven and is one of the most badass witches I know. So I have nothing against that choice, _as long as there is a choice_.”

“They _do_ have a choice,” Eragon argued.

“Truly?” Helena asked of him. “Would their parents just agree, if they told them they didn’t want to marry the man they wanted them to? Or if they wanted to marry someone their parents didn’t approve of? What about this Katrina and your cousin?”

Eragon looked like someone had slapped him. “I...”

“And what about if they didn’t want to be a wife at all? What if they wanted to be a smithy, or a butcher, or a hunter? Would anyone be willing to teach them? Would anyone be willing to engage them if they learned on their own anyhow?” Eragon’s silence and burning blush was all the answer she needed. “I have lived here for not even a year, and _I_ can tell the difference. You don’t know how it is to be looked at like you’re an object instead of a person. You don’t know how it is like to have people you engage with look to the man by your side first, if you have a man by your side. I am woman, hear me roar.”

Brom broke into the conversation again, “Be as that may be, it is for the best now. It should come as no surprise to you, that you act nothing like the women of the Empire act. You know the reputation you got back in Teirm, and we cannot afford to have that here.”

Helena’s face soured, and she looked away from them. It was minutes later, after she had calmed down, that she had to face that she had lost the plot there.

By Merlin’s Old Saggy Bollocks. The dream-nightmare-amalgamation had shaken her up, and she didn’t like it. She sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Helena looked over at them again; mostly at Eragon, but also at Brom. “I’m just... knackered- tired of not being me.”

Brom sighed. “I understand that – I truly do –, but who you are and what we are trying to do is not compatible. It is what it is.” No one had blamed Brom for being good at consoling. Nor did Helena want or deserve to be consoled after her small outburst.

“It’s okay,” Eragon gave her a small smile. No, it really wasn’t, but she wasn’t sure if she could explain that to him. Instead, she simply returned the smile.

‘ _It’s not too late to go our own way,’_ Godric pointed out to her. He and Saphira weren't with Brom, Eragon, and she, staying hidden during the day and catching up during the night. It was needed as they were moving towards increasingly trafficked roads, and, unlike Teirm and its surroundings, there was rarely even a single cloud in the sky.  ‘ _We could ask Brom where the Varden are, or we could make our way to the elves._ ’

‘ _My Heart, we’ve given our word that we would help,_ ’ Helena told him patiently, all too familiar with how her partner felt about their ‘detour’. ‘ _Ancient Language or not, it matters._ ’

A heavy sigh was the response.

“Weren’t you on the run for several months from that Tom Riddle guy?” Eragon suddenly asked. Helena looked up at him with an inquisitive stare. “I mean, you complain about not sleeping in a bed, but I thought you would be used to camping?”

Helena snorted. “Not like this. When we were on the run from Tommy, we had a magical tent which was like a small flat – house,” she explained at the confused look he sent her way, “with a working stove, a living room, and, most importantly, beds which didn’t ruin your body.”

“What about when you first travelled to Teirm?” Eragon continued to inquire.

“I slept as a wolf there,” she shrugged. “It’s much easier that way, and I felt safer since I was in a strange place. But that isn’t an option here.”

“You’re right about that,” Brom muttered to himself, not looking over at them.  Helena had the childish, irrational urge to give him a two-fingered salute, but after a moment’s deliberation decided that the best option was to simply ignore the comment.

Eragon glanced at Brom, before doing as his female counterpart did. “I didn’t really feel a difference when Brom and I first fled from Carvahall. My bed wasn’t really of high quality. I’ve never laid in a real bed before Teirm.”

“Wish I had it as easy,” Helena sighed. “I guess I’ll eventually get used to it.”

‘ _Perhaps you don’t have to,’_ Godric commented in her mind. ‘ _Hopefully, we’ve reached either the Varden or the elves by then._ ’

‘ _We can only hope so,_ ’ Helena agreed.

Helena didn’t regret joining Brom and Eragon, not even a little bit. Yes, there was some tension in their small group, mostly between Helena and Brom but also between Godric and Eragon. The ruby dragon didn’t particularly like Eragon, and thus there was a bit of heavy air between Godric and Saphira as well. But with that said, it was so good to be amongst people who she didn’t have to hide from. Brom was an amazing teacher, and Eragon was a good friend. With Godric, she could never feel alone, but there were some roles that he couldn’t fill.

“I had the dream about the woman again,” Eragon broke her thoughts. Looking around it seemed she had been caught in them for a while. She turned to Eragon as he continued to speak. “It was the same all over again. I’m not going crazy, am I?”

“You’re not going crazy,” Helena and Brom both answered, making them shoot amused looks between them. Well, Helena looked amused at Brom, while the old storyteller rolled his eyes in not-quite annoyance.

“You scried her successfully,” Brom told the brown-haired boy seriously. “That is all the proof you need to tell you that you aren’t becoming messed up in the head. And, like I’ve said before, while I don’t know how it is happening, it is possible.”

“I’ve been looking through my books since you told me about her,” Helena told them, drawing their attention to her. Eragon looked hopeful.

“And?” Brom pressed.

“And nothing,” Helena answered in annoyance, though not at Brom but at not being able to find anything helpful. She blew a strand of stray hair out of her eye. “I have the libraries of two Noble and Most Ancient houses, one of which was divisively dark, and I found nothing.”

“Dark?” Eragon asked with a frown. “You thought I...?”

“Of course not,” Helena dismissed immediately, bringing relief to her male counterpart’s face. “But just because you weren’t using some kind of dark magic, doesn’t mean someone else wasn’t. Regardless, that doesn’t matter, because like I said, I found nothing. It was a long shot either way: I’ve never heard of anything like scrying back home. It is possible that the magic actually exists back home, and that it just hasn’t been discovered yet, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“What about that divination?” Eragon asked, stumbling slightly over the foreign word.

Helena made a face. “Divination is a woolly subject at best. The common wizard and witch _might_ , and I stress ‘might’, predict a small event in the near future, but nothing more than that. For anything more, you really need to be a Seer, and they are even more rare than metamorphmagi.” She waved away their confused looks, as it really didn’t matter at the moment. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because it isn’t the same.”

Helena wasn’t telling the whole truth. No, she hadn’t found anything in her books about anything even remotely similar to what Eragon had experienced. But... she herself had had dreams which showed events taking place in other locations. But that _really_ couldn’t be the same, because the only reason she had had those dreams, was that she had had a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul stuck inside her head which received a rather nasty broadcast from the Dark Lord himself. She really doubted that this woman had done something like that to Eragon. Telling him about it would only freak him out. Besides, while Eragon and Brom had heard bits and pieces of the Second Blood War, they didn’t know fully how she fit in, and she would like to keep it that way. At least for a while.

“Don’t worry,” Helena smiled over at him. “We’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I just hope we won’t figure it out too late,” Eragon trailed off, looking deep in thought.

Helena tried not to think too much about Eragon’s ending statement as they continued to ride on in silence. For once the male Dragon Rider didn’t speak at all, which was worrying in its own way. If she was candid, other than the time when she had tried to find anything about the dream Eragon had been having in her books, she hadn’t thought much about the woman. She had thought it a strange quirk, and then gone back to worrying about her own problems. Given, her problems – being stuck in another world, becoming a dragon rider, getting control of her magic, _missing home so badly_ – weren’t unimportant, but she was getting tunnel-vision. Eragon was _really_ worried for this woman whom he had only met (and that was pressing it) in his dreams.

According to what Eragon had told, this woman was lying bound to a slab of stone alone in a chamber somewhere below ground level. Not far below, like Gringotts had been, but only far enough to be mistaken for a basement. Now that she truly thought about it, all things pointed towards this woman being a prisoner. And from the feelings Eragon had sensed from her – fear and hopelessness and despair – her jailors weren’t exactly treating her well. They might even be torturing her.

A wave of nausea hit her at that thought. Fortunately, Helena didn’t have much experience with torture, but she _did_ have _some_. That was a lie, actually, because she had been tortured in one manner or another by Tom Riddle on multiple occasions, but because of how inhuman Tom had been, it had registered truly as such – inhuman. The memory which haunted Helena was the one where she was trapped beneath Malfoy Manor with Ron, Luna, and Mr Ollivander, while Hermione was being tortured by Bellatrix in the hall above them. Never had she felt so... powerless. Hermione was tortured physically, but both she and Ron was tortured mentally by having to hear Hermione scream and scream-.

Helena shook the memory from her head unless she was going to be sick right then and there. If Brom was annoyed by her cracking her knuckles, she couldn’t imagine he would be much more pleased with her chundering in the middle of the road.

Glancing over at Eragon, who was still caught in his own thoughts, Helena truly hoped, with all of her being, that having those dreams about the woman was nothing like what Helena went through at Malfoy Manor. If it was, then... She just hoped.

The day went on slowly but surely, as the small band of misfits made their way south along the Leona Lake. While Helena wasn’t happy with Brom, she did keep herself from doing anything overly unladylike, as the road _was_ beginning to fill up with other travellers. It didn’t mean she was all proper and aristocratic, but she kept from cracking her knuckles and neck and such things. Eragon, as was to be expected, couldn’t stay quiet for long, and kept asking questions about everything between Heaven and Earth. Of course, _because_ of how other travellers were now often near and within earshot, he couldn’t ask anything overly sensitive, but that still left a myriad of subjects.

Helena began finding herself missing Teirm. It wasn’t because of the city itself with beds and bakers and _civilisation_ – alright, a little bit it was –, but because of the weather. Being a city lying right out to the ocean the weather was humid most of the time. It hadn’t done wonders to her hair, but it was something she was used to from back home in Great Britain. She wasn’t used to travelling on far stretches of land, where the air was so dry it almost hurt to breathe. Again, it was an exaggeration, but it didn’t help. It was just yet another reminder that she was far from home.

“We’ll stop there for the night,” Brom’s voice shattered the silence they had been riding in the for the last hour or two. Eragon’s eyes snapped open as he almost fell off of the horse in surprise, and Helena quickly looked away from him. Only Merlin knows how embarrassing it would be to be caught staring at him, especially as she herself didn’t know how long she had been doing just that.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider frowned when she saw the place Brom had spoken about. “I thought you said we wouldn’t stay in any villages.”

“You got a problem with it?” Brom asked gruffly. Helena knew he had hoped for her to be intimidated by it, but it did just the opposite.

Mirth shone from Helena’s eyes and as her left eyebrow rose. “Not at all.” The old storyteller did care after all.

“Do you know what it’s called?” Eragon asked, looking curiously at the village down the road. They were still some time away from it, but it was beginning to become visible in the distance.

“Fasaloft,” was Brom’s simple answer.

“Fasaloft?” Helena asked. “I don’t recall seeing it on any maps.” That was a feat, as Helena had studied the maps some mighty intently. That was before she had joined up with Eragon, Brom, and Saphira, while she was still trying to get her bearings, even before Godric had hatched for her. Well, she also looked over maps after Godric had hatched, but that’s not the point: the point was, that while she didn’t have a photographic or eidetic memory, she had spent enough time with the map for a location to pop up when a name was mentioned.

“It’s too small to be on most maps,” Brom explained. “It’s only half as large as Carvahall, but much wealthier. Many travellers and traders rest here, as it is the last stop before Dras-Leona.”

“Is it long to Dras-Leona?” Eragon asked.

“Around five days for a trader. That means that we can perhaps make it in two-and-a-half or three days.”

“What if we speed up?” Eragon pressed.

“Yes, why would that be a problem?” Brom asked, glancing at the boy. He did that from time to time, to try and get Eragon to _think_.

Eragon pursed his lips, clearly not in the mood. But Brom didn’t care, and Eragon knew that, so he sighed and began to think. Helena thought it was funny how it almost took a physical strain on him. Like she had said before, he wasn’t stupid, but he just wasn’t used to thinking things through – like _really_ thinking. But he was learning, and learning well.

“It’s because we’re hunting the Ra’zac and they are in Dras-Leona,” Eragon finally figured out after a few minutes of back and forward between him and Brom. “We’ll need our strength. If we’ve sped up, we will be exhausted.”

Brom’s lips twitched and his eyes shone. That was Brom’s way of showing he approved. Eragon saw it too, puffing his chest out, just a little, like Helena had only seen males do. She enjoyed the show, biting back a snicker.

They made it to Fasaloft an hour later. It was early evening, and the sun was just beginning to set. You didn’t have to look at the sky to figure that out because the atmosphere in the small village portrayed it perfectly. It was almost... cosy. It made Helena smile.

Helena didn’t have much experience with villages, only having Hogsmeade and Godric’s Hollow to compare to, but Fasaloft was _really_ small. It consisted of about four dozen houses, with four of them being hostels and inns. Then there was a small smithy, a baker, and a house to store fish that was caught in the Lake. Even so, it was bustling with activity. It must be because, like Brom had said, that this was the last stop before Dras-Leona.

“Come, this way,” Brom told them as he steered Snowfire towards one of the hostels down the road. “We’ll stay at the Merchant’s Rest; their prices aren’t as outrageous as they could be.”

“You’ve been here before?” Eragon asked in surprise.

“I _have_ been in other places than Carvahall, boy,” Brom answered amused.

“Yes, I know, but-.“

“Did you think that I spawned from a rock in the Spine, and wandered there gathering my stories, until I was old enough to be respected by the villagers? No, I’ve had a whole life you’ve no idea about.”

Eragon pouted as he crossed his arms. “Never mind.”

Helena watched the exchange with mirth. “Personally, I don’t find it so hard to believe that you spawned from a rock. It would explain a lot, actually.”

Eragon burst out laughing, while Brom glared at her, promising her all manners of torture in form of training. In all honesty, she did find that prospect slightly undesirable, but if Brom wasn’t able to scare her when he tried to interrogate her in Jeod’s loft, when she had no idea who he was or what he wanted, he had no chance of scaring her now.

Purchasing room in the stables for their horses, the three entered the Merchant’s Rest. Helena let out a mental sigh of relief when she saw the insides: according to the atmosphere and patrons, if the hostel had been placed in Teirm it would be placed slightly below the place Helena had been staying. In other words, it was built for merchants and traders, instead of farmers who came to drink their sorrows away. There was a merry mood, with jovial laughter booming through the air along with the clacking of glasses. A pang of homesickness hit her unexpectedly, when she wondered why there were no ‘cheers!’ ringing through the air as well. She quickly shook it away, but it still sat in the back of her head.

Brom pushed through the crowds, Eragon and Helena close behind him, making his way over to the counter. As he bartered with the owner of the establishment – the old coot still refused to accept any of her money – Helena looked around again. She had to admit to feeling a tad uncomfortable when she noticed a couple of the patrons eyeing her in less than noble manners, even though she logically knew that she could take them out in less than a fraction of a second. Brom would be pissed if she did, but she _could_.

Eragon must’ve noticed the looks as well, because he, rather possessively, laid an arm over her shoulders and sent a glare back at the men. Most of them looked amused, but turned their attention back to their drinks and their friends. _That_ wouldn’t have happened if they had been in an establishment who served a lower social class. It was sad, but that was how Helena had discovered it to be – at least in Teirm.

“Eragon,” Helena called, making the younger boy look at her. She smiled amusedly at him. “You can remove your hand now.”

Her male counterpart looked confused for a second or two, before he noticed that he _still_ had his arm around her shoulders. Now, normally she would be pissed at anyone thinking she needed protection, but she was in a strange land, and she knew that Eragon meant well. Eragon blushed bright red, looking away from her and removed his hand with a muttered apology. Just in time for Helena to hear that Brom had rented two rooms.

“Not here,” Brom told her neutrally as he turned away from the owner to walk head-on into one of her stares.

The old storyteller led them over to a table by the back wall. While there was a free table in a darker corner, it was too obvious in the way that it was too... shady. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for a travelling family to be seeking a sense of privacy in a strange place: Helena had seen it more than once in Teirm.

“Muffliato,” Helena muttered under her breath, Eragon and Brom shielding the glow of her gedwëy insignia from the other patrons. She did wear gloves, which hid the mark, but when she was casting spells so that it was lighting up like a Lumos Charm gone awry, it helped nothing.

“You sure it worked?” Brom asked her.

Helena face soured. “Yes, it worked.” Eragon smiled apologetically at her, though Brom looked indifferent to her. In the two or so months they had travelled and trained together, they _had_ learned that she didn’t like to be doubted. That had always been true, but even more so after she had bonded with Godric and she had lost control over her magic. “Why-.“

“Here you go,” one of the hostel’s wenches interrupted the female Dragon Rider – though she didn’t know that because of the spell – as she put down the bowls of steaming soup on their table. “Enjoy.”

Brom began eating immediately, Eragon following his lead. Helena crossed her arms and stared at Brom until he would give her some attention. It took some time, but the old storyteller finally sighed heavily after a few minutes.

“What?” he asked sourly.

“Why’d you rent two rooms, especially when you won’t let me pay myself?” Helena asked, trying – truly, honestly trying – to keep her voice level.

“I’ve already told you that we need to keep our heads down,” Brom explained as if he was talking to an idiot. Helena’s eyes narrowed. “Even though they think we are family, it is not proper to sleep in the same room.”

Eragon choked on his soup, spilling down his shirt. He cursed heavily, throwing a few curses in which he could only have learned from Helena, as he tried to dry himself off serviette. Helena and Brom only glanced momentarily at him.

“All right, I accept that,” Helena told Brom. “But why by Merlin’s Beard won’t you let me pay for myself? They don’t have to know that, I could just give you the money.”

“It’s not needed,” Brom told her.

“Bollocks,” Helena shot back. Eragon and Brom still didn’t know what that meant, but they understood the connotation. “I’ve seen you counting crowns several times now, especially after we’ve eaten in a village. Just swallow your pride, old man, and let me help!”

“It’s not needed!” Brom repeated, sternly this time.

“But-.“

“Helena, for once, just do as I say!”

Helena’s face soured. “Fine, be that way.” She grabbed one of the keys Brom had laid on the table. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Helena-.“ Eragon started.

“Let her go, boy,” Brom told him. Eragon said something back, but Helena was too far away by then. She walked up the stairs and down the hallway, until she came to room eleven where she would be staying. She entered, locking the door behind her, cast another Muffliato, before screaming in frustration.

‘ _Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?’_ Godric’s voice sounded in her mind. Helena startled, still expecting Godric to be asleep before the approaching journey that night, which she had already taken during the day. ‘ _I was asleep, but I woke up when I felt you_.’

Helena sighed and sat down on the bed. ‘ _I know I overreacted, and I don’t know why. Well, I know **why** : if that old tosser had just let me pay for myself, the argument would have never taken place in the first place!_’

‘ _I’m sensing a ‘but’_ ’.

‘ _I don’t blame him,_ ’ Helena told her heart’s friend, feeling her eyes tearing up. She tried to dry her eyes off with her gloves, but they just filled up again just as fast. ‘ _He is right. He wants to keep Eragon and I safe. He doesn’t want to bring attention to us. But I’m just so tired of hiding._ ’

‘ _You miss your home,_ ’ Godric concluded.

‘ _I miss home, I miss my friends, and I miss being me,_ ’ Helena told him. ‘ _While we were training in the mountains, it wasn’t as bad, but it wasn’t like being at home. I **still** must explain why I do this thing this way, or that thing that way. I miss having some answers, and not being **terrified** that whoever or whatever transported me here will interfere again, and not in a good way. I just miss... things being less complicated_.’

‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’ it sounded heartfelt from Godric. A rush of affection for the dragon rose in her.

‘ _It’s not your fault,_ ’ Helena told him with no uncertainty. ‘ _It’s just... After Tom died, I was finally looking forward to some normalcy in my life. Well, as much normalcy as The-Girl-Who-Lived-To-Conquer can have. But I wouldn’t have to worry about when Tom was going to attack, or worry about the lives he was going to take because he didn’t get what he wanted._ ’

‘ _And then you woke up in the Spine, and I hatched for you_.’

 _‘My Heart, I will **never** regret you hatching to me,_ ’ Helena told him, wanting to make sure he knew this. _‘Never. I am deeply honoured that you chose me. And I know that I would never have made it through all this as well without you by my side. You hatched just as I found out that there was no immediate way home, just as my last hope shattered. You kept me together. At least until now.’_ Helena sighed. ‘ _And perhaps I’m beginning to ramble._ ’

‘ _Maybe just a bit,_ ’ Godric joked, trying to lighten the mood. ‘ _And I feel the same way about you, just so you know._ ’

Helena smiled, feeling exhausted. ‘ _Maybe I’m just tired._ ’

‘ _You should sleep,_ ’ Godric decided for her. _‘You’ll be in Dras-Leona soon, and since I can’t be by your side, you need all your strength._ ’ The worry was flooding over her in waves.

‘ _I won’t be alone, you know that,_ ’ Helena tried to calm some of Godric’s worries. There sounded a grumbling through their link. ‘ _You still don’t trust them._ ’

‘ _The old one kidnapped you,_ ’ Godric told her as it was obvious that that should be the reason. ‘ _And the young one is weak._ ’

Helena sighed. ‘ _Okay, so you don’t trust them. But you can at least trust their skills._ ’

’ _... perhaps,’_ Godric grudgingly agreed after a few second. ’ _But you should still rest. You’re exhausted._ ’

Helena smiled again. ‘ _I love you too._ ’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a bit worried about this chapter. I don’t want Helena to seem whiny or something like that, but I realised that I didn’t really have one turning point in the original, where Helena kind of snapped. Not going ballistic, but where she just couldn’t hold it together anymore. I wrote that here, and as such needed to make a few corrections to the chapter. If you see any contradictions, or you feel like the chapter is a mess, please let me know.  
> Again a few things are inspired by Najex. The dream (that she had one, not the content of it) and the small discussion between Helena and Eragon about women’s’ rights, basically, was inspired from his story. I don’t want this story to be political, and I’m not trying to force my view down on anybody, so I hope you don’t feel like that is the case.  
> Synthesis


	10. Dras-Leona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena sighed, knowing that the battle was lost. Merlin, Eragon had to be one of the most stubborn persons she knew. “What would you do if I said I wouldn’t join them?”  
> Eragon bit his lip. “I would call you a liar.” The response came out evenly, without hesitation or uncertainty. “You are helping me going after the Ra’zac, who are known servants of the king, and without them ever having antagonized you. You are clearly not afraid of making an enemy of him.”  
> “Eragon, let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” Helena told him sternly. “I am terrified of making an enemy of the king. I am scared to hell of the stories I’ve heard about him. And I am frightened shitless that he might hurt someone I care about.” Eragon looked shocked, and Helena let out a humourless laugh. “What? You held the belief that I thought the king was honky-dory?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

“Are you okay?”

Helena looked over at Eragon, riding on Cadoc a few metres away. He was looking over at her with a concerned frown. Even Brom, who was riding further ahead of them, glanced back at her as Eragon spoke, with some sort of glint in his eye.

“I’m fine,” Helena smiled softly.

“You sure?” Eragon pressed. “You haven’t been speaking much…” He chewed lightly on his lower lip. “If it’s about what happened the other night-.“

“Eragon, I’m fine,” Helena told him, perhaps just a little bit more snappishly than she had meant to. Eragon flinched lightly, making Helena sigh. “Sorry. I just haven’t been feeling like talking. But I _am_ fine.”

“If you’re sure,” the reply came from Eragon. It was clear he didn’t really believe her, but he left her be. She looked up at Brom, who quickly looked ahead. It made her sigh again.

‘ _They are not wrong, you know,’_ Godric told her.

‘ _I know,’_ Helena didn’t bother arguing with him. ‘ _And you, better than anyone else, knows as well.’_

‘ _I do, and I don’t blame you. **You** know that,_’ Godric told her with affection. It made Helena smile, and a rush of her own affection ran through their link to match Godric’s.

Helena sighed. She really couldn’t afford herself to go all to pot. The night at the Merchant’s Rest shouldn’t have happened. Thinking of home... that couldn’t be avoided anymore, not after the dream she had, and neither was it healthy, but she couldn’t let it affect her as it did. She supposed she should count her lucky stars that her breaking point had only been reached then; the last months of training had occupied her mind, and before that she had been taking care of Godric. Not once had she let herself sit down for a moment’s rest and just let it hit her – that she might just not ever get home again. She hadn’t let herself sit down and just _feel_ ; feel scared, feel angry, feel that the world was unjust, feel that the world was against her once again.

The homesickness, or whatever you should call the feeling of not being able to get home again, was enough to mess with anyone, but Helena also had to deal with how utterly out of place she felt in Alagaësia. She was a headstrong person, perhaps too much so at times, but she had come to love herself for who she was. People who she thought were her friends might turn on her, the papers and press might turn on her, but she knew who she was, and she took pride in that. And in Alagaësia she _couldn’t_ be herself, at least not without hiding herself away; as Brom had put it, _she_ was not compatible with what they were doing. The situation had basically taken away one of her largest sources of strength.

Thinks didn’t have to be honky-dory, but a few months – weeks even – where she didn’t have to hide herself away or explain herself and her actions would be a blessing.

It was tough, no question about it. And she got a deep, crushing suction feeling in her chest when she thought about it. But she was not going to sit around and wallow in her misery. While she appreciated the qualities the other three houses represented, and she even had some of them, she was a Gryffindor at heart: she was a woman of action. So she was going to see this Ra’zac business through with Eragon, she was going to help Godric get revenge on Galbatorix, and then she was going to work her hardest to find out what the hell had happened to her. But, and this was important, she was not going to act like she was definitely going to go home again. There was a very real possibility that she was going to stay in Alagaësia permanently. Even if she actually found out _what_ had happened to her, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was going to be able to reverse whatever process that had transported her to the Spine.

In the end it was a lot of if's and crossed fingers, both of which Helena disliked thoroughly. So, for now, she needed to think in the short-term. And the short-term was assisting Eragon and Godric.

“That is Helgrind,” Brom spoke up hours later, after Dras-Leona had just become visible over the horizon, and answering the question Eragon had asked months earlier. He was pointing slightly south of the city. “People here are fascinated with it, even though it’s an unhealthy and malicious thing. It’s because of Helgrind, that the Black King founded Dras-Leona here after the Fall.”

Normally Helena would think such descriptions that Brom was using of an inanimate object was nonsense, but looking at the towering rock formation towering well over a mile over the flat land, she couldn’t deny that something told her that it wasn’t quite right. Even the minerals it was made of, a deep black kind, was completely out of place: all around them the minerals were almost red and mostly sandy, and nowhere did black rocks jag out of the ground. It was almost as if a Dementor had tainted the mountain. Momentarily Helena wondered if it could be anything like Azkaban, and shuddered at the comparison.

“I can’t imagine why,” it came from Helena dryly.

“How are they fascinated with it?” Eragon asked, ever the curious one, even about subjects as the one they were approaching. It was dangerous, but Helena appreciated that about Eragon. He, for the most parts, didn’t shy away. Truth was Truth, no matter if you ignored it or not.

“They worship it in a manner of speaking,” Brom told them, getting a dark look on his face. “They drink human blood and sacrifice living humans to Helgrind. It isn’t unusual for their priests to be missing body parts, as they believe the more bones and tendons they sacrifice, the less connected one is to the mortal world. They spend much time discussing which of Helgrind’s three peaks are the tallest and most important, and if the fourth, and lowest, should be included in their rituals. It’s a terrible religion.”

 “That’s horrible,” Eragon said, his eyes wide as he looked at the black mountain. He had grown steadily paler as Brom had told about the religion. If the subject hadn’t been so ghastly, Helena would’ve found it comical. She could probably replicate the result by telling Eragon about women’s reproductive system. In the back of her mind, she heard Godric snicker.

“Why do they do it?” Helena asked with a frown.

Eragon glanced at her. “Do they need one? They are obviously twisted and raving mad.”

“They might be, but people rarely do anything without a reason – even if that reason only makes sense to one who is twisted and raving mad,” Helena told him.

The younger boy looked as if he was about to argue, but stopped himself. “Really?” He still sounded unsure, biased towards his own opinion, but he was _asking_. Brom’s lessons had worked after all.

“Really,” Brom nodded, confirming what Helena had said.

“There were a people back home named the Aztecs,” Helena started telling, making Eragon look at her again. “They also practiced human sacrifice. They believed it to be crucial, as the Sun God needed nourishment in the form of human blood, life force essentially, in order to keep the sun moving from east to west.”

“That still sounds crazy,” Eragon told her flatly.

Helena shrugged. “There is logic to it. I don’t believe in gods, but never have I seen a religion without its own logic to it.”

“Even the witch burnings?” Eragon challenged. Helena’s mood soured considerably.

“Witch burnings?” Brom asked, confused. So she explained.

“But yes,” she told Eragon after having explained it to Brom. “Even the witch burnings had logic to them. The Christian church believed witchcraft and sorcery to be the work of the devil – the personification of evil.” She clarified the last part, as she had done many times before, at the looks of confusion which flashed across their faces. It didn’t exactly help with the mood she had been in since the night of her midnight flight.

“You should listen to her,” Brom told Eragon in a severe tone. “I don’t know the logic behind the Helgrind religion, but I’m sure there is one. Humans – well, all sentient beings, to be fair – rarely do anything without a logical reason.”

Eragon nodded, looking thoughtful.

It wasn’t long after that they reached the gates of Dras-Leona. Helena used the time to get into character – because, yes, she was going to play someone else. She still didn’t agree with Brom on much, but, for now at least, she needed to hide. So the story was that Eragon and she were cousins, being born to Brom’s brother and sister respectively. It would explain why Helena’s clothes and overall complexion was more refined and of higher quality, as she would’ve been raised by another, and obviously richer, family. It was decided that their family would be from Teirm, as that was the city which had the highest probability of lower-class citizens marrying up the social ladder. Well, they chose Teirm because of that, but also because both she and Eragon could answer questions about it, if someone got curious. And if anyone asked, then they were visiting family in Feinster, and had chosen to go by land to see some of the country. A bit more unusual, but not unheard of. Normally a family wouldn’t have spread so far, but both Teirm and Feinster were coastal centres of trade, so no-one would question that someone might’ve fallen in love while visiting the other city.

Helena sat up straighter and got a guarded look on her face as they approached the city. Dras-Leona’s layout was... odd to put it mildly. She might’ve been spoiled living in Teirm for so long, which had been rebuilt with defensive purposes after it had been burned to the ground, but that couldn’t be the entire story. Dras-Leona, unlike Teirm, allowed buildings belonging to the city proper to be built outside of its walls, almost dividing the city in two. That wasn’t what was odd, as having a defensive sanctum for everyone to retreat to in case of an attack was a sound strategy. No, what puzzled Helena to no end was why the houses – shacks, truly – outside of the walls were so tightly packed together. Inside of the walls it would be understandable, as there was limited space, but that wasn’t the case _outside_ of the walls; there was nothing stopping them from just expanding outward. It was almost as if they were reluctant to move further away from the city, and it couldn’t merely be because of them being frightened of an attack. It was all very... strange.

Their small group all dismounted as required as they approached the large gates, and walked into Dras-Leona.

The wall wasn’t as tall, or as sturdy, as the one in Teirm, but it was still enormous. The gate they walked through was large enough for ten soldiers to stand guard on each side of the road, and still leave plenty of room for travellers with wagons to travel through. Helena only just managed to wonder if Dras-Leona would be as pleasant as Teirm was, when that hope was shattered as they entered the access road proper.

“Merlin…” escaped Helena’s lips before she could help it, and she prepared herself for a nonverbal berating from Brom. Instead he just shot her an understanding look, before putting his arm around her shoulders like a protective uncle would. Eragon, who was just as, if not more, affected as her, walked close to her on the other side, his left hand hovering over the dagger Helena knew he had in his belt. The horses walked behind them, clearly also feeling the oppressive air of the city they had just entered.

The houses just past the gates were tall and slim to compensate for the lack of room. The result of this was extremely tall buildings which leant slightly over the road, and thus blocking much of the sunlight. That, put together with the dark, brown wood which most of the buildings were built of, made the street extremely dark and unwelcoming. But it wasn’t as much that which had shocked Helena: the architecture was not at all unlike that of Diagon Alley, though the magical shopping street was much lighter, and had been so even during Tom’s short, though violent, reign. No, what shocked her were the people.

Urchins ran across the street and between the houses, fighting over scraps of food. Beggars sat along the street, most of them deformed, most likely due to the Helgrind religion. Children sat with them as well, and Helena was at least relieved to notice that while, yes, there was a child here and there who was missing a limb, they didn’t seem to be practicing the mutilation. The children with missing limbs had most likely lost them to sickness and injuries, and while that was horrible as well, it comforted Helena that no-one had taken a healthy foot from them. In these conditions, that could mean the difference between life and death for a street child.

Compared to Teirm, the citizens of Dras-Leona were definitely worse off. Teirm was old and wealthy, and the distribution of wealth, while not uniform, left very few very wanting. The number of beggars that the entirety of Teirm had was about equal to that of the beggars of the access street of Dras-Leona. That was a scary thought, because Helena was sure that the whole city would be filled with them. It was beginning to dawn on her, that it wasn’t only Helgrind which wasn’t quite right – it was Dras-Leona as well.

‘ _I don’t like it,_ ’ Godric told her. ‘ _I have a bad feeling about this._ ’

Helena raised a mental eyebrow – or at least the feeling accompanying it. ‘ ** _You_** _have a bad feeling?_ ’ Godric, and Saphira, didn’t get ‘bad feelings’. Yes, they trusted their instincts, but then they said that it was their instincts. Helena didn’t know if it was a dragon thing or a Godric and Saphira thing, but she highly suspected it was the former.

‘ _Yes,_ ’ Godric answered dryly. ‘ _I guess you’re rubbing off on me._ ’ Helena rolled her eyes at his tone, knowing that he had gotten miffed as he was prone to get. ‘ _But I’m serious.’_

‘ _We talked about this the other day,_ ’ Helena told him patiently. ‘ _I’m with Eragon and Brom. And I know you don’t trust them, so you will have to trust me._ ’

‘ _I do,_ ’ Godric told her frustrated. ‘ _But we are stronger together. And while you are also strong alone, and you have gotten better with your magic and with that pointy piece of metal, you are not as strong as you were before our bonding.’_ He paused, calming himself. ‘ _We’re stronger together. We’re meant to fight side by side._ ’

Helena really loved him.

‘ _We are,_ ’ she agreed. ‘ _But we won’t always be able to do that. We are stronger together, but we **cannot** allow ourselves to grow dependent on each other when we fight. We must be able to hold our own ground. You know that._ ’

‘ _It seems like that is all we do,_ ’ Godric sighed. ‘ _But I know you’re right._ ’

Helena sent him a rush of affection, trying to comfort. ‘ _It will get better. I promise._ ’

“I don’t want to be here,” Eragon said in a low voice to them. Helena was surprised by how broken his voice sounded. She glanced at him to see the horror written across his face. It hurt her. Not even second-guessing the motion, she grabbed his hand – his right hand, as his left hand was still hovering over his dagger. It was slightly awkward, with both of them holding the reins to Cadoc and Alfisgr, but Helena didn’t care about that for the moment. Eragon glanced at her, and for the first time he didn’t blush at physical contact with her. He simply searched her eyes, before nodding to her.

“It gets better further in,” Brom told them both. “Right now we find an inn. We can plan our next move there. I don’t want us out on the streets longer than what is highly necessary.”

It was clear by the way that Brom lead them, that he didn’t know his way around as well as he did with Fasaloft. It wasn’t surprising: while Helena didn’t know Brom’s secrets, she had long since guessed that he wasn’t on good terms with Galbatorix. That meant it wouldn’t exactly be smart of him, to stay in the city where Galbatorix’s influence is felt the most apart from the capital. Helena wouldn’t be surprised if the city was riddled with spies and perhaps even a hidden garrison or two – you know, in addition to the dozens, if not more, garrisons which were in plain sight.

After fifteen minutes they found lodging in the Golden Globe. It was a definite step down from the Merchant’s Rest and couldn’t even be compared to the Singing Seagull. If she had been in charge, she would’ve looked for something better, but she wasn’t. And while she and Brom weren’t best friends, she trusted him. More or less.

After having rented two rooms for the night – though, now that they were in Dras-Leona they would only be using one – and had taken a table as far away from everyone as they could, which really wasn’t much, Helena quickly cast the Muffliato and Notice-Me-Not Charms after the wench had delivered a pitcher of beer and their dinner.

Like the inn the food wasn’t much to talk about. Helena nibbled to it, but in the end didn’t want to risk it. She would dig into her storage when they got up to the rooms, which had stayed untouched since she arrived in Teirm, bar for a few times while they were training. There was still enough food for a few months.

While Eragon and, to a lesser extent, Brom didn’t look thrilled about the food either, they ate it. And they all but threw themselves at the beer. Since they were protected by charms, Brom had apparently not seen any harm in offering her a cup of beer. She had taken a look at the liquid, glancing up at the bar where the bartender spat on a glass before polishing it – which didn’t help at all – and quickly declined.

Brom threw her an amused look.

“What?” Helena asked.

“We might have set a whole story up about you being from a richer merchant family and all, but you really are a little posh, aren’t you?” he told more than asked. He was clearly already slightly tipsy.

Helena rolled her eyes. “It’s called proper hygiene, you tosser.” She looked down at her hands and, for once, was glad that they were gloved. “You say that I’m posh, but back home I wouldn’t be...” She breathed in deeply, settling the feelings that stirring under the surface, and let the breath go. “Things are different here. I might take a sip of firewhiskey when we get to our rooms.”

Brom shrugged, tipping the cup back and drinking the entirety of its content.

“So, what now?” Eragon asked. He was also drinking, but was still on his first cup, which was still half full.

“Tonight, we rest,” the old storyteller decided. “Tomorrow we can start our search for the Ra’zac. Whatever you do, make sure you don’t accidentally say something you shouldn’t. These charms, while impressive, aren’t invincible. The Black King has a whole group of spies who are magicians. If we get found out, we’ll need to leave immediately.”

For the next hour or so they ate slowly and, to Helena’s genuine surprise, comfortable, talking about nothing of importance or in particular. After Brom’s nose was so far down his cup of beer that Helena was starting to worry if he was able to breathe, and after Eragon was swaying slightly in his chair but clearly still aware, her fellow Rider turned to her with a frown.

“Back earlier,” Eragon started, his voice only slightly slurred. “When we talked about Helgrind and the ass-tics.”

Helena’s mouth twitched. “Aztecs. But yes?”

Eragon nodded, “Yeah, those guys. You said you didn’t believe in gods. Is it really true? I know that that church thingy burned your kind and that you didn’t like them, but do you really not believe in anything?” The blue Dragon Rider was looking at her with curiosity, but he wasn’t judging her. It was only because of that that she answered.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Eragon,” Helena told him honestly, sloshing the water in her cup around as she got pensive. “Do you believe in any gods? Is there anyone in particular you direct your prayers to?”

“There isn’t,” Eragon shook his head. “But I still believe that there is _something_ out there. In Carvahall there were small things that we did, like making an offering of food to keep the milk from turning sour and sprinkling goat’s hair on the field to keep pests away.” Helena frowned, but didn’t bother pointing out the obvious. She wouldn’t be able to convince him, especially when he was tipsy. He might not even remember the conversation the next day. “So, you don’t think there are any gods?”

Helena sighed. “It’s not that I’m saying that there aren’t any, just that I’m not concerned by them. Back home I’m what is called agnostic, as many wizards and witches are. Sure, there are a sizeable portion who belong to an organized faith, but most don’t. We’re not saying that gods don’t exist, but we haven’t seen proof that they do. We simply don’t concern ourselves with them.”

Eragon let it sink in. “You don’t worship anything? You don’t believe in anything?”

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider shrugged. “I believe in cause and effect, wisdom as its own reward, and the inherent right of all free willed beings to exist.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, but I don’t have the answer you’re looking for, Eragon,” Helena told him honestly. “I don’t believe in any large being or beings. The way I see it, there are two options: either there are no gods, or there are gods, but they don’t care about us who live in the mortal world. Either way, I don’t concern myself with them.”

Eragon spluttered. “What? What about a life after death?”

“Oh, I do believe in that,” Helena told him straight away. “I know there is one. At least for magical beings.” She didn’t mention that she had actually spoken to a dead person – e.g. Dumbledore after Tom had killed her – for the same reason she didn’t argue with him over the traditions of Carvahall.

“But-.“ Eragon started, but was cut off by Brom groaning. His head was lolling on the table, and spit was pooling on the wood from his open mouth.

“It’s getting late,” Helena told him. “Help me up with him.”

Eragon didn’t look even half-way finished but sighed and complied. They walked down a hallway – Helena was grateful that they weren’t going upstairs, as she wasn’t sure Eragon could do that with how much he swayed – and entered room seventeen. Letting Brom fall on the bed, Helena quickly entered room eighteen to make it look like someone had actually slept in there, before going back to room seventeen. By then Eragon was already snoring on the floor, looking strikingly like Brom. It made Helena smile.

She recovered blankets from her bag, throwing one over Eragon and putting one on the floor beside him where she laid down. She laid there for a while, simply looking at her counterpart.

Helena believed herself not to be a judgmental person. Don’t get her wrong, she was a person full of strong opinions, and would argue for them if she got the chance, but, apart from a few instances, she didn’t look down on people who didn’t share her views. This was one of those few instances, however, and she was finding it hard not to judge here. Truth be told, while she didn’t care for gods much, she had great respect in those that did; to be able to put so much faith in a concept and let go of all worries… Merlin only knows how many times she had needed that, and probably would need in the future. But that was not the same as the traditions, or superstitions, that Eragon had told her about. They were outright _wrong_. He didn’t know that, but… she wondered if she told him if he would believe her.

She sighed.

‘ _Do you truly believe that it’s possible that gods could exist?’_ Godric asked her. Through their link she knew that he and Saphira was flying over the Leona lake, catching up to them. Well, most of the way, anyway.

‘ _It’s possible,_ ’ Helena told him, knowing that it was a strange concept for a dragon. And rightly so: dragons were magnificent and dangerous and beautiful.  If one had that much power, it was hard to believe that there was something greater. Some wizards and witches were also like that and looked down on muggles because of it. Most, however, acknowledges the possibility: after all, didn’t muggles believe _them_ to be myth and superstition?

~ BWaC ~

For the entirety of the next morning Helena was overly chipper. Brom and Eragon paid for their indulgence the night before and glared steadily at her when she spoke in high and sharp notes, the mirth shining from her face. They did get better as Brom had a sort of miraculous cure consisting of enormous amounts of warm tea (if one could call the hot leaf juice they were drinking that) and ice water, which was finished off with a small amount of cognac. It might be a miraculous cure for a muggle, but it was nothing like the Pick-Me-Up brew (potion, really) which Madame Pomfrey had invented… and which was in Helena’s bag. She would’ve offered it to them if Brom hadn’t muttered some rather unsavoury things under his breath. As it was she might give it to Eragon later, though not before he had felt what a hangover felt like – she wouldn’t be surprised if it was his first one, from the way he was moaning and groaning.

“First and foremost, we need to ask some discreet questions,” Brom explained to them after they had returned to their room, Eragon and Brom no longer looking dead on their feet. “I want to know where in Dras-Leona the Seithr oil got delivered, and where it was sent from there. It’s likely that there were soldiers and workers involved in the transportation. We need to find those men and get one of them to talk.”

Looking for those men gave Helena her first opportunity to get a good look at Dras-Leona, and not just the few roads they walked the day before. Her instinct, that the city wasn’t quite right, only got reaffirmed. You didn’t need to be a genius to see that Teirm and Dras-Leona was as different as two cities could be. The only similarity that the two cities had, was that they both were built around a single building. In Teirm it was the citadel, and in Dras-Leona it was a palace, which Helena could only guess belonged to the lord of Dras-Leona. But even with that said, the reasons behind the cities being built around a single building were different: in Teirm it was to protect the city, while in Dras-Leona it was to rule over the city.

It was sickening to see such wealth used on not only the palace, but also, and even more so, on the cathedral, when so much of the city was steeped in poverty. The palace’s courtyard was a mosaic made of mother-of-pearl, and part of the walls were engraved with gold. In recesses stood enormous black statues, probably made of the same kind of material as Helgrind, with burning incense in their hands. It was disgusting, as two streets over children were dying from hunger and exposure.

By the time noon had come and gone, and the three of them sat back at the Golden Globe for some lunch (this time from Helena’s bag, thankfully), Brom was grumbling at their unfruitful search so far.

“We could split up?” Helena suggested. Brom looked at her, not entirely hostile. “You said it yourself earlier: This city is enormous. And it isn’t like Teirm, where it’s orderly. If we all stay together, it could take up to several weeks to find anything.”

“It’s necessary, I guess,” Brom sighed. Then he looked up sternly at them. “But you two will stay together at _all_ times. Keep away from the gates: it’s highly unlikely that there will be anything of use near there, and it’s where, apart from Tabór´s palace, most soldiers are posted.”

“Of course,” Eragon nodded. While he was serious, Helena could all but see him shake with excitement. That they were close to the Ra’zac was the reason, of course.

Brom saw it as well and looked to Helena. “I trust you’ll keep the boy out of trouble? And _try_ not to draw attention yourself?”

“Oi!”

“Of course,” Helena nodded, pleased that he trusted her enough to ask that.

Eragon pouted. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

Brom simply rolled his eyes, making Eragon fume more. “Just don’t do anything stupid. We’ll meet back here at dusk.”

The two Dragon Riders nodded, and after they had finished their lunch, Brom went up towards the richer areas of Dras-Leona, while Helena and Eragon moved towards the markets, and further in that direction, the storehouses.

They had walked for a few minutes when Eragon, almost hesitantly, took her arm in his. Helena shot him a questioning look, and he reddened up in seconds.

“It’s only proper, as you’re my cousin,” Eragon told her, not looking her in the eyes.

Helena’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

As they walked through the first market, they asked subtle questions here and there. For all the inconvenience that it brought that Helena was a woman and a little posh, and that she wore expensive clothes, here it actually helped. No one looked twice at her when she asked about pearls and how they were preserved – meaning Seithr Oil. What it also meant was that she could use some charm neither Eragon nor Brom could.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything else?” Helena purred, leaning forward over the counter a bit to give a better view of her otherwise humble cleavage. Her right hand was lightly stroking the shop-owner’s hand, as she looked up at him from under her lashes.

The shop-owner got a goofy smile on his face, his eyes momentarily flickering down. “I’m really sorry, my lady. But there isn’t much to say. I buy my wares from elsewhere, everything already prepared.”

Helena pouted and sighed deeply. “If you are sure…” She got back on her feet and tugged Eragon with her towards the door.

“Wait,” the shop-owner said. Helena looked back at him, polite disinterest written over her face. He got out from behind his counter, drying his hands off in his dirty pants. “I don’t know anything else, but my wares are always delivered from the same warehouse. Perhaps someone there knows something?”

Helena’s face lit up, “Thank you so much.” Stepping forward, she hesitated slightly, being fully in character. Smiling shyly, she leaned forward and kissed the shop-owner on the cheek, giggled, and went out of the shop with Eragon.

The two Dragon Riders walked in silence for a while, Helena browsing the wares of the booths standing around the streets. Here and there she bought a small thing, a small snack, a small funny gizmo, things like that, both to not draw attention to herself, but also to help these people in whatever small way she could.

When they walked past a dark, empty alleyway, Eragon grabbed her arm and tugged her down the side street. Helena frowned, but complied and followed. He might’ve seen something. Only he hadn’t.

“What was that?” Eragon asked her sternly. Helena looked confused, which only seemed to piss off Eragon even more. “In the store!”

“Oh,” Helena said, still confused at his reaction. “That was me getting us the information we needed.”

“By acting like a harlot!?” he asked outraged.

“Yes, _acting_ like it,” Helena answered, starting to get pissed off herself. “We needed the information. Why should I not use the assets I have to get that information, when it will increase our chances?” Eragon blushed at the word ‘assets’, even though it hadn’t been her breasts she had been directly referring to there.

“Why- But- You-“ Eragon sputtered.

“Eragon,” Helena said sternly, her own temper starting to rear its head. “I did what I had to. I’m not ashamed, and neither should you. So, I seduced a shop-owner to get information: so what? It’s not like I shagged him or anything. So just… sod off about it!”

By now Eragon’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Helena rolled her eyes and walked back towards the street. It was clear by the frosty atmosphere emanating from Eragon that he wasn’t happy with her, but most fortunately, she wasn’t there to please him.

The rest of the afternoon went by in silence. Before their argument, the two of them walking around had reminded Helena of that day in Teirm, but that couldn’t be said anymore. She found that the longer she stayed in Alagaësia, the longer she had to explain herself, the longer she had to _hide_ herself, the prissier she got.

By the time dusk rolled around, and their small party was gathered in the room again, some of the hostility between Eragon and Helena had calmed some, though it wasn’t entirely gone. Brom saw it right away, but after a second or two of contemplation didn’t seem to think it warranted a reaction from him.

“What are these,” Brom asked with a frown, referring to a platter of fried meat. Helena instantly recognized them.

“Dragon tartare,” Helena answered. “Or I guess wyvern tartare. They’re incredibly tasteful, though they give you bad breath.” Brom looked with wide eyes at the platter, and so did Eragon. Helena rolled her eyes. “Really, they are harmless. Look.” She popped one of them into her mouth, their spices dancing the jive on her taste buds.

Eragon looked contemplating on her, before following her lead. His eyes widened at the amount spices, Helena would guess, but didn’t motion to spit it out. A moment later Brom did the same.

“Not bad,” Brom told her with a crooked smile. “So, did you find anything out.”

“It was mostly just talk,” Eragon shrugged. Then he hesitated. “But we did discover the warehouse where he got his wares from. We went to check it, and it seems to be the place. We couldn’t find out anything else, though.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Brom asked gruffly, looking straight at Eragon. The blue Dragon Rider looked decidedly uncomfortable. Helena just rolled her eyes.

“Eragon got his knickers in a twist, because I seduced a shop-owner to get the information,” Helena told the storyteller. “Nothing dangerous, mind you, I just showed him a bit of cleavage, and he was babbling like a sailor on shore leave.”

Brom barked out a laugh while Eragon blushed bright red again, looking away from Helena. “I like the way you do things.” Helena smirked.

“Did _you_ discover anything useful?” Helena asked, taking a bite of a shepherd’s pie.

Brom shrugged. “I discovered several interesting things today, one of which is that Galbatorix will be visiting Dras-Leona within the next few weeks.”

For several seconds nothing was said in the room. Then it sunk in.

“What!?”

“Are you serious!?”

Brom wasn’t affected and took a sip of the cup of firewhisky – which Helena had allowed with his promise of not getting drunk again. “It would seem that Tabór has taken one too many liberties with his power, so the Black King has decided to visit and give him a lesson in humility.”

“What an unusually considerate gesture,” Helena said dryly.

“He isn’t doing it for the people under Tabór,” Brom smiled wryly, confirming what Helena hadn’t said. “He couldn’t care less if people die in Dras-Leona, but Tabór must’ve done something that in some indirect way has inconvenienced Galbatorix. And it must be significant, because it’s the first time in a decade that the king has left Urû’baen.”

“Do you think he knows about us?” Eragon asked, a worried frown marring his face.

“Of course he knows _about_ us,” Brom answered bluntly. His eyes shifted to Helena. “Well, at least about you. I don’t know about Helena yet. The only one who would know about her is Jeod and the urgals, and Jeod doesn’t know anything with certainty, and the urgals are about as likely to talk to him as the dwarves are.”

“You didn’t tell Jeod about me?” Helena asked surprised.

Brom shook his head. “I trust Jeod with my life, but you… You could literally tip the balance of power. Whether that’s good or bad, I honestly don’t know yet.” He was much more candid than Helena had thought he would be, but she appreciated it. He looked back at Eragon. “I know with certainty that he knows about you. But with that said, I’m sure he hasn’t discovered your whereabouts yet. If he had, we would already be in the claws of the Ra’zac.” Eragon relaxed some. “However, that the Black King is coming means that no matter what we plan to do about the Ra’zac, we need to do it before Galbatorix arrives.”

“Couldn’t we just hide while he is here?” Helena asked.

Brom shook his head. “You underestimate Galbatorix. We must not be even within a hundred miles of him.” He turned to Eragon again. “The one good thing about this, is that we now know with certainty that the Ra’zac are here. They are sure to be preparing for his visit.

“I want to get my hands on the Ra’zac,” Eragon said with determination, but there was something else in his tone. Helena’s left eyebrow rose. He was growing right in front of her eyes, and in some areas fast. Eragon looked up. “I want to get my hands on them, but not if it means that I have to fight against the king. He will, without a doubt, be able to rip me to pieces with a mere motion.”

Outwardly Brom looked humoured, but Helena could see how proud he was that Eragon had thought it through, and not just focused on his revenge.

“Very well: caution it is,” Brom nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “And you are right. You wouldn’t stand a chance against Galbatorix, neither of you. Not even if you attacked him together.”

Eragon and Helena both swallowed that fact. It wasn’t news to Helena, and neither to Eragon, but it was still hard to hear from Brom, who Helena trusted about this. With all she had heard about Galbatorix, she wasn’t even sure if the Killing Curse would work. Not that she could ever cast that, not even against Galbatorix.

Godric was also growing increasingly worried. He never liked the idea about Dras-Leona, and the information Brom had just shared had only reinforced his opinion. He, however, trusted Helena, trusted that she would get out alive.

“You said you discovered several interesting things,” Eragon spoke up. “Does that mean you know where the Seithr oil is taken?”

He did. Brom’s afternoon had been much more fruitful than theirs, as he had not only discovered what they had, but had also followed the trail of Seithr oil from the warehouse to Tabór´s palace. There he had presented himself as a bard and spent several hours in the palace discovering secrets. In the end he discovered that the Seithr oil was sent further along out of the city.

“Out of the city?” Eragon asked, a disheartening look on his face.

Brom took a big whiff of the pipe that he had lit during his tale. Surprisingly, the smoke and smell weren’t as smothering as Helena had feared. “Not that far, boy. At each full moon two slaves are sent to the foot of Helgrind with enough supplies to last a month. When Seithr oil has arrived at the palace, it is sent with them. No one sees the slaves again. And the one time someone tried to follow them, he disappeared as well.”

“Slaves?” Helena asked, sitting straighter, it shouldn’t surprise her, but it did. Damn that bastard of a king.

“I thought the Riders destroyed the slave trade?” Eragon asked, his eyes having gotten a hard glint to them.

“The Riders have been gone for a while now, and the Black King doesn’t care,” Brom told him in way of answering. “It varies from city to city, but especially here in the south slavery is common. There are even people who make their living out of kidnapping the desert dwellers and the unlucky trader or two.”

“Disgusting,” Helena said, her whole face scrunched together. Some might say that she was a hypocrite as they would point out she herself had a ‘slave’ in the form of Dobby, Kreacher having died at the Battle of Hogwarts. But house elves were dependent on wizards and witches, or at least a location steeped in magic (like Hogwarts).

Both Eragon and Brom hummed in agreement.

“The Ra’zac must live on Helgrind, then,” Eragon guessed.

“That would be my guess,” Brom nodded.

“If they really do live there or have an outpost or anything of the likes there, it’s either at the very bottom, protected by a large slab of stone, or somewhere up higher where only their flying mounts or Saphira and Godric would be able to reach,” Eragon mused, tapping the jaw with his left index finger. “If Helena and I were to fly around Helgrind to try and spot anything, the Ra’zac would undoubtedly spot us – not to speak of the rest of Dras-Leona.”

“That would be a problem,” Brom nodded, pride once again glinting in his eyes.

“Couldn’t you use that invisibility spell to hide one or both of us?” Eragon asked her.

“In theory, yes,” Helena said, tapping her finger against the floor in thought. “But if this really is the place we’re looking for, it is bound to be protected with wards and enchantments and who knows what. It would be very risky, perhaps even more so than not, to do it while under a Disillusionment Charm.”

“What if we took the places of the slaves?” Eragon asked. “There isn’t long to the next full moon, and it would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra’zac.”

Brom looked thoughtful, while Helena looked sceptical. “It would be very risky.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance if the slaves are killed from a distance,” Helena told him.

“How do you know they are killed?” Eragon challenged.

“I’m certain they are,” Brom answered for her. “But... It’s an idea we can at least entertain. If two of us took the places of the slaves, and the third hid nearby with Saphira and Godric...” Dread set in Helena’s stomach. This was a bad idea. “It’s doable, but we need to work fast. The king will soon be here, and the next full moon appears in four days.”

Helena sighed. “If you insist on this _moronic_ plan, we should at least scout the area first. It would be suicide to do otherwise.”

“True, but it doesn’t need to be done right away,” Brom chose a middle ground, not finding offence in her condemning their plan. Helena snorted mentally; that would’ve been the epitome of the kettle calling the pot black. “I’ll return to the palace tomorrow and see if it is even possible for us to take the slaves’ places. But we must be careful, especially with the king visiting soon. Even more spies will be throughout the city, and especially at the court. Spies who know about the Ra’zac might expose me.”

“But if we remain hidden...” Eragon breathed.

Brom nodded. “Yes.”

Eragon didn’t say anything right away. And then, “I can’t believe we’ve finally found them.” His face got hard, and once again Helena saw that glint of something she didn’t like. At least he wasn’t so far gone that he had dismissed the king as a threat as long as he got his revenge. But still... Helena sighed.

“The hard part is still ahead of us,” Brom reminded Eragon sternly. “But, yes, we’ve done well. If we’re lucky, you can get your revenge, and the Varden will have one less dangerous enemy to worry about. Whatever happens after that is up to you.”

‘ _What **will** you do after this Ra’zac business is over?’_ Godric asked.

‘ _I... I am hesitant to leave Eragon, Saphira, and Brom,_ ’ Helena admitted. ‘ _If we’re lucky, they’ll choose to go to the Varden. But if they don’t...’_ Helena blew the fringe out of her eye and huffed. ‘ _Why don’t we talk about it after we’ve gotten the Ra’zac? Really talk. I won’t ignore your opinion._ ’

‘ _I know,’_ was Godric’s simple answer.

~ BWaC ~

Helena woke the next morning due to Brom scratching a message onto the wall with a piece of charcoal. She sat up and stretched, shooting a fond look at Eragon. He did look so much calmer when he was asleep.

Brom glanced at her as she rose up but finished his message. Then he turned to her and spoke in a low voice, “I’m going to the palace. Spend your day however you like, but-.“

“Stay unnoticed,” Helena nodded. Brom gave her a sharp nod, gathered a few items, and walked out of the door. A faint click revealed that he locked it after him.

She walked over to the wall to read the message:

_Eragon, Girl_

Helena rolled her eyes at Brom’s antics.

_I’ll be gone until late tonight. Eragon, there are a few coins for food and whatever you like under the mattress. Explore the city, have fun, but stay unnoticed._

_Brom_

_PS: Avoid the palace. Eragon, go nowhere without your bow. Helena, only use Gaian magic if you absolutely have to._

Helena couldn’t imagine what fun could be had in Dras-Leona, not with misery being present all around them. Even the market yesterday, which, before Eragon’s outburst, Helena had more or less enjoyed, was tainted by the urchin who got arrested for digging through the trash of a shop. Helena shook the memory from her head and decided to just go with whatever Eragon wanted to do.

After dressing, she was looking at the bed Brom had slept in and was a thought away from cleaning it with the Scouring Charm when she realized that she couldn’t. It would be too obvious and would raise eyebrows once they had left. Sure, it would be _after_ they had left, but it still wouldn’t be good. Brom surely would be annoyed. So instead she threw the blanket she had slept on for the last two nights over the bed and sat down on that. She had no doubt that she would clean the blanket with several Scouring Charms once they were away from Dras-Leona: she had no longing to be the dinner of whatever lived in the bed.

While waiting for Eragon to wake, she brought out her Ancient Runes books and equipment and continued a small pet project of hers. Back home, she had only just touched upon it. These last few months, though it had evolved into something entirely new and amazing. At her currently level, though, she knew it would be undoable. So, she had to get better. She had only taken Ancient Runes up until her O.W.L.’s exams, deciding to forgo the subject to be able to concentrate more on her other lessons and the private lessons with Professor McGonagall. It wasn’t as if she had no idea what N.E.W.T.-level Ancient Runes were about, because she had sat with Hermione multiple evenings when the muggleborn witch had needed a second set of eyes, but Helena needed much more than just that. It was in the last couple of weeks especially that she had begun to practice the art.

Helena wasn’t sure how long she sat there, surrounded by books and sandstones, both carved and uncarved, when Eragon’s snores finally stopped. Looking up from the stone she was carving the Eihwaz rune into (a rune which would eventually help with defensive runes), she saw Eragon blink in confusion at the amount of light which flowed in through the window.

“Good morning, princess,” Helena greeted her with mirth in her voice. Eragon bolted up in surprise, only dressed in a light shirt and his underwear... which looked rather strained. A blush appeared on Helena’s face and she looked down onto the sandstone again, only to find out she had accidentally broken it. A yelp from Eragon told her that he had noticed why she had reacted as she did. In the back of her mind, she could hear Godric roar with laughter. She narrowed her eyes and told him to sod off, which only increased his mirth. She decided to ignore him.

“Erm, I-,“ Eragon started a minute later, but stopped and cleared his throat when his voice was several octaves higher than normal. “I’m decent.”

Helena looked up, her cheeks still dusted red, and saw that Eragon was indeed decent. He, too, had flushed cheeks.

“Ah, erm,” Helena cleared her own throat. “Good. That’s good, that’s very... good.”

An awkward silence spread in the room, making Helena flustered. She huffed mentally, irritated at herself for reacting that way. Of course she knew that boys woke up with a stiffy, not because she had ever woken up with a boy before, but because Fred had told her. She knew how it all worked out. She knew- she shook her head getting rid of the thoughts.

“So, what are you doing?” Eragon asked, wanting to move on to a new subject as fast as she did.

“Just a pet project of mine,” Helena answered honestly. She shrugged, “I thought I could just as well work on it while waiting for you to wake up.”

“Did you get anything done?” he asked curiously.

Helena looked deadpanned at him. “I’ve been awake for hours. So, yes.”

“Ah,” Eragon flushed again, though not the same kind as before. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Helena smiled softly. “I wasn’t bored.”

Eragon looked over the bed, confusion spreading on his face. “What is this project?”

“Ancient Runes,” Helena answered.

“Like the one you write in your journal?” he asked.

“Kind of,” Helena made a so-so motion. “What I write in my journal is an alphabet. It’s a language. Ancient Runes does include that, but the alphabet is only a fraction of it. Ancient Runes is about anchoring magic to magical constructs.”

“... you lost me.”

Helena chuckled. “Believe me, you aren’t the only one. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are some of the hardest subjects, as they deal with the very nature of magic. To simplify it, I want to make a few defensive spells and wards a bit more permanent, and runes can help with that.”

“But aren’t they already permanent?” Eragon asked curiously, as he looked in one of her books.

“No, they aren’t. A spell has a very limited lifetime, depending on the skill and power of the caster,” Helena told him. “If you are lucky, a ward can last several days before eventually failing. But if you anchor it to a rune it could last for years. Some ancient wizards were so good at runes that they were able to keep them active for several millennia. Of course, those runes were tapped into ley lines, which isn’t always possible – never mind that.” The last part was said as she saw Eragon began looking dazedly at her, and just as he was getting his bearings. “Bottom line: runes make wards and spells last longer.”

“Ah, okay,” Eragon nodded. “Are you finished, or...?”

“If you could just wait ten minutes, I would really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Helena finished up as quickly as she could and packed her things again. Taking a look at the blanket, she threw it over in the corner, deciding to deal with it once they got back. She was about to unlock the door when Eragon spoke up.

“Helena, wait,” he said. She turned to see him looking pensive, which caught her attention. He sighed. “I’m sorry about yesterday. And probably also the night before that – I was a little bit tipsy.”

Helena snorted. “A little bit? Eragon, you were oiled off your arse.” Her whole face was shining with laughter. Eragon blushed and scratched the back of his head, laughing embarrassed.

“I guess. Still, I’m sorry. Also, about the last while...” he told her straightening up. He looked her in the eyes. “I still don’t understand you, but I’m trying. And sometimes I get things wrong.”

Helena’s face softened. “The blame isn’t entirely on you, Eragon. I haven’t exactly been myself since... Well, honestly, since I got here. It’s beginning to get to me – as you saw that other night in the wilds.”

“What did happen there?” he asked. And then rushed to say, “Not that you have to tell me. You have made it clear that you don’t want to share.”

Helena sighed, not answering right away. And then, “I had a dream – or nightmare – about home, and it just brought forth feelings that I’ve buried since Godric hatched.”

“I’m sorry,” Eragon told her.

Helena half snorted, “You do apologise a lot. You don’t have to do that, you know, and I don’t _have_ to be right always. I argue for what I think is right, sometimes too strongly. That doesn’t mean that other people are wrong.”

“Perhaps,” Eragon agreed with a wry smile. “I do believe I owe you _some_ apologies, though, especially for yesterday.”

Helena bit her lower lip, “Yeah, you do. I have to know: if it had been Brom who had seduced a wench or a female store owner or something like that, would you have reacted as you did?”

Eragon flinched. “I... No, I don’t think so.”

“You’ve grown up in a society where women are held up to another standard than men,” Helena told him seriously. “The same is true with the muggles back home, and I grew up with it as well. But since entering the Wizarding World, that hasn’t been true. We have a saying back home: Magic doesn’t discriminate. A woman can do anything as well as a man can. And the opposite is also true.” She paused to let it sink in. “It isn’t only in magic that you shouldn’t discriminate women. Or anyone for that matter. People are amazing if you don’t hold them back.”

“I’m sorry,” Eragon told her heartfelt and looked down. Then he looked up with wide eyes, “Or not, but- Gah.” Helena chuckled, flicking him lightly on the nose. “Oi!

“Eragon, you’re not a bad person,” Helena told him. She took his hand and squeezed it, and he looked up at her surprised. She smiled at him. “In fact, you are one of the better ones that I know, and I feel privileged to call you my friend. You have faults just like anyone has, just... try to think a bit before you act. I don’t see myself as an especially spiteful person, and I hope you have gotten that impression. I won’t hold it against you when you come with such outbursts if you don’t hold it against me when I react to such outbursts. I don’t expect you to change overnight, and neither should you. And perhaps it isn’t only you that should change.

Eragon sighed. “Sometimes it feels like you are leagues ahead of me.”

Helena made a face. “You are too harsh on yourself. I’ve had time to learn a lot of things in a short amount of time – I was forced to learn it, really, to survive. I have other experiences than you have, but we can learn from each other.”

“I’d like that,” Eragon smiled. “So... are we good?” He used a phrase he had learned from her.

Helena laughed again. “We’re good. Now, come on.”

Like the day before, they walked around Dras-Leona. This time they didn’t ask subtle questions, however, and simply tried to enjoy themselves. It was hard with the things they couldn’t ignore. And even knowing it increased the risk of exposure, Helena slipped crowns to the urchins she stumbled upon. Seeing their face beam up as they realized that they didn’t have to go hungry for a while was worth it. At least if they weren’t mugged in the next alley over. She tried not to think of that.

It was sometime past noon that they had stopped by a bakery in the more well-off part of Dras-Leona for lunch. Sitting down and trying to forget the misery around them, Helena actually thought they were having an okay time there.

“What do you plan to do?” Eragon asked her as they sat in the corner of the bakery. Helena raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean once we are done with the Ra’zac.” He was speaking softly, despite their conversations being hidden by the charms she had cast.

“What brought this on?” Helena asked in return.

Eragon shrugged. “It isn’t that out of place to think about. We’ve soon dealt with the Ra’zac, and that was as far as your promise went. You told me some time after leaving Teirm, that you were travelling with us not only to help with the Ra’zac, but also to learn from Brom. You’ve learned from Brom, and soon you will have helped with the Ra’zac.”

Helena sighed. “I’m not too sure what my plans are. I know I need to try and figure out how in the world I appeared here in Alagaësia in the first place, and it seems unlikely I will have enough time to do that without interference from the King.” She hesitated, “Godric has been urging me to go our own way after this Ra’zac business is over, and I’m not entirely opposed to it.”

Eragon’s eyes widened. “So soon... Why?”

Helena let out a humourless laugh. “You’ve seen how I’ve been the last few weeks. I am tired of hiding, Eragon. Continuing to travel with you, Saphira, and Brom would probably mean continuing to visit cities and travel by roads, and that means I need to hide myself. I would rather be on my own and be myself.”

“Are you going to join the Varden?” he asked bluntly.

Helena frowned. “Eragon...”

“Look, I’m not stupid,” Eragon told her. “I am not educated, and there are a lot of things that I don’t know, but I know when subjects are being avoided in my presence. With Brom I accept it because he is Brom, but please don’t do it to me as well. You’ve said it yourself; we are together in this.”

“It is not to hurt or annoy you that I do it,” Helena answered him, looking him straight in the eyes. “I know how you feel about me. I know those feelings, as I have felt them myself. And I know the influences that they work on you.”

Eragon blushed bright red, looking away from her face, but he didn’t deny it. “I am not incapable of making my own decision. But you matter to me, and I want to hear your thoughts on the subject.”

Helena sighed, knowing that the battle was lost. Merlin, Eragon had to be one of the most stubborn persons she knew. “What would you do if I said I wouldn’t join them?”

Eragon bit his lip. “I would call you a liar.” The response came out evenly, without hesitation or uncertainty. “You are helping me going after the Ra’zac, who are known servants of the king, and without them ever having antagonised you. You are clearly not afraid of making an enemy of him.”

“Eragon, let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” Helena told him sternly. “I am absolutely _terrified_ of making an enemy of the king. I am scared to hell of the stories I’ve heard about him. And I am frightened shitless that he might burke someone I care about.” Eragon looked shocked, and Helena let out a humourless laugh. “What? You held the belief that I thought the king was all hunky-dory?”

“N-no,” Eragon stammered. “But when we talk about him, you always seem so...”

“Someone once told me that courage is not the absence of fear, but the realisation that something is worth fighting for despite of it,” Helena told him. “But you asked me a question, and I owe you an answer... Yes, I am going to oppose Galbatorix, and supporting the Varden seems to be one of the most easy and obvious ways of doing just that. But whether or not I will _join_ the Varden, I do not know yet.”

Eragon let out a breath. “Right...”

“Look, it was you who insisted on an answer,” Helena couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know, and I’m glad you told me,” Eragon told her with a small smile.

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence, though not an uncomfortable one. Helena could see the thoughts rush through Eragon’s head, and she couldn’t help but hope that she hadn’t complicated things. They left not ten minutes later but heard a commotion nearby. Deciding to check it out, as they got closer it was clear that it was an auctioneer who was listing off a price list in a yell.

Turning a corner, they came face to face with the auction, which took place in a small square. In one corner stood a platform about as tall as her chest, where upon the auctioneer stood. Behind him stood ten men and women and even a child in a row, their patched clothes in stark contrast to the auctioneer’s and the audience’s. Helena’s eyes widened, and she froze up when she realized what this was. Eragon shot her a weird look, but still looked curious up on the stage.

“Here we have the day’s first number,” the auctioneer said in a cheerful voice, a clear sales pitch. “A healthy man from Hadarac, caught as late as last month, and in excellent condition as well! I mean, just look at those arms and legs; he is as strong as several oxen! He would be perfect as shield carrier, or if you don’t trust him with that, as hard worker. But, my ladies and gentlemen, in my humble opinion, that would be a waste. He is intelligent enough if you can get him to speak a civilized language.”

As the audience laughed, Eragon finally froze up. Helena had known Eragon long enough to have picked up a few of his tells. And right now, they were screaming that he was angry. No; well and truly off his rockers. She wasn’t going to do anything about it, as he was right to be so, but then she felt the magic. Well, not exactly, but she felt the itch under her skin which told her magic was building up somewhere but wasn’t released. The only reason she was able to feel that was because she was standing right beside Eragon, and she didn’t hesitate to react.

Helena’s hand left hand came clamping down on his right, and she tugged him away from the crowd. She knew right away that it hadn’t been necessary, because Eragon deflated before she had even managed to tug on him. Still, she thought it would be best to get away from there. The last thing she heard from the auction was a girl crying as she was ripped away from her mother. Helena’s breath hitched, and Eragon looking at her, his eyes mirrored her own.

“We don’t even treat animals like that,” Eragon finally spoke subdued a few streets over. He looked up at her. “It isn’t right.”

“It isn’t,” Helena agreed. He didn’t say anything else, but it was clear it had gotten him thinking. Helena couldn’t help but wonder of what, as a whole range of emotions ran across his face. Helena smiled softly. She liked that about Eragon – that he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Helena didn’t have to guess when it came to him.

They walked for a long while, with no aim in particular. Eragon was deep in thought, so it was Helena’s job to softly steer him in and out of the different crowds. He didn’t even notice. When he finally stopped, they were out in front of the cathedral.

It was impressive, all right, in its own wrong, sinister way. As it usually was with religion, people cared deeply and profoundly, and it showed in the care that the builders of the cathedral had shown.

The cathedrals’ four spires reached high into the heavens, only Helgrind reaching higher for hundreds of miles around. Helena hadn’t noticed before, but the way that the cathedral was built, it was almost like a refined copy of the rock formation. The four spires stood as they did on the mountains, and balconies popped out in seemingly random places, until you saw the outcrops on Helgrind. Etched into the marble was sneering monsters, fabulous creatures, and heroes and kings marching. What really stood out from what Helena was used to, was that the heroes and kings didn’t seem to be fighting these creatures and monsters, but almost admiring them and following them. Strange and stranger.

“What’s written there?” Helena asked, pointing up over the door. It was in the Ancient Language. While Helena was getting much better at it verbally, she wasn’t as good at it when it was written. She doubted that it was its native alphabet, as it was far too complicated.

“May thee who enter here understand thine impermanence and forget thine attachments to that which is beloved,” Eragon spoke slowly.

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Helena drawled. Eragon snorted.

“Kind of seems like a spider waiting on its kill, doesn’t it?” Eragon asked in a low voice. Helena got a picture of the cathedral as an acromantula in her mind and had to agree with her male counterpart.

“What are you doing?” Helena hissed. Eragon had taken a few steps forward and looked as if he was about to enter.

“Do you think we are allowed to enter?” Eragon asked, not answering her question. At her exasperated look, he said, “I just want to see what’s it like inside. I’ve never seen anything like it, and chances are I won’t be back anytime soon.”

Helena looked at him for a few moments before sighing. He beamed at her and entered, Helena only a few steps behind him.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider felt like she had just taken a step into one of those scary movies Hermione had showed her. She was almost one-hundred percent positive that it would be less creepy to sleep beside Dumbledore’s decaying corpse, _inside_ his tomb. It wasn’t so hard to believe that the unsettling feeling which Dras-Leona embodied came from the cathedral.

The air was chill and dry inside, an abrupt change from the warming spring air of March outside. Bare walls extended to a vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows depicting scenes of anger, hate, and remorse pierced the walls, while spectral beams of light washed sections of the granite pews with transparent hues, leaving the rest in shadow. Between the windows stood statues with rigid, pale eyes. It didn’t help at all that because of that, both her own and Eragon’s skin were coloured a deep blue, making them resemble walking corpses.

Helena followed after Eragon, their steps echoing in the large space. Everything in her screamed that this was wrong – and it wasn’t just because she never had been comfortable in religious buildings, something probably springing from her treatment at the hands of the Dursleys – and she wished they hadn’t entered. But she knew that Eragon had been adamant, and it was better that she was there with him than them splitting up.

They made it to the altar soon enough. It was a great slab of stone devoid of adornment. A solitary finger of light fell upon it, illuminating motes of golden dust floating in the air. Behind the altar, the pipes of a wind organ pierced the ceiling and opened themselves to the elements. The instrument would play its music only when a gale rocked Dras-Leona.

Of all things to do, Eragon actually _kneeled_. Forget that she thought he was crazy paying respect to something so... wrong, he left himself completely open. That was proven true a moment later, when she heard the large door they had just entered through open, and two hooded figures entered. Helena knew right away that they weren’t human.

“Eragon,” Helena breathed. He didn’t hear her. “Eragon.” She repeated his name louder, and this time he heard her. He looked up at her in mild irritation, which quickly disappeared when he saw how pale she was. He turned and saw the cloaked figures, and he froze. Anger and rage quickly overtook his face.

For two very long moments no one moved. They all four stood frozen on opposites end of the cathedral, simply looking at each other. Then the smaller of the two figures, which Helena could only deduce was the Ra’zac, hissed. Something clicked inside of her, something that had clicked for the first time in the zoo in Surrey and while duelling Malfoy in Second Year and many times after that when coming head to head with snakes. The Ra’zac spoke Parseltongue. Or at least a variation of it. It was definitely different, but Helena could understand the gist of it.

“Who is the girl?” had the shorter Ra’zac asked. It never got an answer, because a moment later Eragon reacted.

A roar erupted from Eragon, as he ripped his bow from his back and put an arrow to it. He didn’t hesitate and released it towards the Ra’zac. He didn’t stop there, and a second and third and fourth arrow quickly followed the first.

With Eragon’s roar, whatever spell had been over the Ra’zac broke, and they charged down the aisle, easily dodging Eragon’s arrows. Helena’s heart pounded, and she quickly dipped her hand into her bag and retrieved the altered Sword of Gryffindor. Cursing that it was sheathed, she quickly did away with it, and stood prepared for the Ra’zac, who was always halfway down the long aisle.

Suddenly a stench filled Helena’s nose almost making her gag. Something crept up inside of her mind but wasn’t able to take hold. It was there, and it was annoying, but that was all it was. Eragon, though, clearly had been affected. While he still shot arrows, he looked dazed, and whereas before his aim had been true (and the Ra’zac had been dodging), now he wasn’t even close to hitting home.

‘ _Helena!_ ’ Godric exclaimed in her mind. She quickly mentally shushed him, as she couldn’t afford to be distracted. And then after a moment’s thought replied.

‘ _Warn Brom,_ ’ was all she said. She didn’t close their connection – she would never do that –, but she could _not_ afford to be distracted then.

She narrowed her eyes at the Ra’zac who was quickly gaining in on them. Her eyes widened in horror when several companies of soldiers burst into the cathedral. She turned to Eragon.

“Eragon, we need to retreat,” she told him. He didn’t seem to hear her, still in the dazed state where he was shooting arrows at nothing. “Eragon!” she slapped him. It worked a bit, and he looked dazedly at her. He was there, but not quite.

A hissing drew her attention back to the Ra’zac who was only about twelve meters from them then. Panicky, she quickly remembered what Brom had taught them about the Ra’zac. They were strong and powerful and could take down most humans in a one-on-one fight. Unlucky for them, she wasn’t completely human.

No time for incantation, Helena dug into her magic and waved her hand towards the Ra’zac. They squawked as they were lifted off of the ground and hurled with incredible speed back from where they had come from, along with a several stone benches, which all hit the soldiers.

Not having any time to be shocked over the level of destruction, Helena took Eragon’s hand and ran towards the chamber beside the altar. A small amount of relief flooded her when Eragon squeezed her hand and ran with her instead of her tugging him along: he was out of his daze.

“How did they find us?” Eragon asked.

“Does it matter?” was Helena’s answer. “We need to get out of here.”

The commotion behind them proved that while Helena’s stunt had slowed them, the two of them were still being followed. They didn’t stop in the chamber and began running down several long tunnels.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Straight. Left.

They turned a corner, bolting into the door as they had done with several others, when it didn’t budge. It was locked. Before Helena could do anything, Eragon motioned with his right hand.

“Jierda!” he exclaimed. In a bright flash of light, the door was destroyed, splinters flying everywhere. The dust hadn’t even settled when he took her hand and began running again.

They ran in and out of rooms and hallways, scaring several groups of priests, and almost running into a room full of soldiers, before backing out and running down another hallway. Helena’s lungs were burning, but it was bearable. She knew it wouldn’t have been before her training with Brom.

They finally made it outside, only for it to be a garden surrounded by a tall and thick stone wall.

“Shit,” Eragon breathed harshly. He was about to run back in when Helena grabbed him.

“We won’t make it in there,” she said. He was clearly about to ask what to do then, when he looked at her with wide eyes, and then the wall. Helena didn’t wait, gathering the magic, no holding back, and motioned towards the wall.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

The explosion could probably be heard for miles around and surely by everyone in the Dras-Leona. It didn’t matter now, however: they were discovered. The dust cloud was enormous, and Helena wasn’t able to see three meters ahead of her. But it was all they got.

Taking Eragon’s arm, she began to run. This time she didn’t let go, as they couldn’t afford to be separated.

“I told Saphira to warn Brom,” Eragon said.

“I told Godric to do the same,” Helena replied as they accidentally flipped over a booth, the wares spilling all over the street. The beggars and urchins didn’t hesitate and jumped over the wares before running for it.

“We need to get to the Golden Globe,” Eragon told her. She simply nodded.

They reached the inn in only a few minutes, ignoring the way people were looking at them. They were quite a sight, after all, sweaty, panting, and covered in dust as they were. Not bothering to do it carefully, Helena just threw all their belongings into her bag, before they fled the inn as well.

When they exited the Golden Globe, Brom was waiting outside with the horses. He looked caustic and worried.

“What happened?” he asked them as he swung himself up on his horse.

“We were in the cathedral when the Ra’zac suddenly appeared,” Eragon explained mounting Cadoc. “We couldn’t get out of the entrance as there was at least four regiments of soldiers with them. We fled through a lot of hallways and rooms, and Helena demolished a stone wall to a garden.”

“We hurried as fast as we could, but they could be here at any moment,” Helena told Brom, already mounted on Alfsigr.

“We have to get outside of the city wall before they close the gates, if they haven’t already done that,” Brom told them. “If they are closed, it will be next to impossible for us to escape. Whatever happens, don’t get separated from me.”

It was just as Brom had said that, that the end of the street was flooded with soldiers. As soon as they saw Eragon and her, they shouted and pointed. Brom cursed heavily, quickly rushed Snowfire to gallop in the opposite direction. Eragon and Helena weren’t far behind.

Not bothering hiding anymore, Helena used her magic several times to throw things in the way of the soldiers. There were many yells and screams as walls collapsed and dozens of booths flew into the middle of the street, but Helena couldn’t care less at that moment.

“No,” Eragon whimpered, yes whimpered, as the gate got into sight. It was already closed, and soldiers were standing ready.

“Alohomora,” Helena incanted, but felt something block her. Narrowing her eyes, she didn’t hesitate, and flung her left hand towards the gate. “Reducto!” The ruby light sped down the street, making soldiers jump out of their way to avoid it. Then it hit a shield, a ward, and fizzled out. Helena’s eyes widened, this being the first time her magic had been prevented in Alagaësia.

Brom cursed and steered Snowfire down another way. Eragon followed right away. Helena, however, never got to the chance, as a searing pain spread in her left shoulder as an arrow pierced, and a moment later she was thrown off of Alfsigr when the most horrible sounds erupted from the beautiful horse before stopping abruptly.

“Helena!” Eragon’s voice cried out.

Helena groaned and quickly got up on her feet. She bit down a curse when she saw Alfisgr dead on the ground, an arrow to the heart having killed her. At least she died quickly, Helena couldn’t help but think.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider turned and began to run towards Eragon and Brom, who had stopped at a crossroads in the city. Eragon was shooting arrows frantically with his bow and might’ve hit a few. Helena didn’t know, because a moment later it was her right side that an arrow hit. She screamed out, and Brom cursed.

Adrenaline was rushing through her, as the pain from her wounds were great. They had to have used poison. Scratch that, she was _sure_ they had used poison, because this was not the pain of a simple flesh wound.

Narrowing her eyes as she heard soldiers behind her, she spun around and, without giving the soldiers standing twenty meters away a chance, she let the spell loose.

“Confringo!” she commanded her magic before the whole street blew up. At least _that_ wasn’t warded. She knew that she had to have killed more than a few there, and from the looks of it so did Eragon. But it didn’t help: moments later the street was filled up again.

She finally made it to Eragon and Brom and got a look down the other three streets. Soldiers were coming from everywhere, and the Ra’zac was running across the rooftops further down the street heading away from the gate.

There was only one more hope.

“Please work,” Helena begged out loud.

“What are you talking about?” Brom asked, shooting arrows as well. He must’ve picked it up on the way, though Helena didn’t know when.

Helena didn’t answer him, but simply took hold of the two as well as the two horses. And then she apparated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed the longest chapter to date, a bit over 13k words. I wrote an extra scene here, the lunch scene at the bakery where Helena and Eragon talks. This, like the extra scenes of the last few chapters, was inspired by Najex’s story, so a thank you to him.  
> Some of you might recognize what Helena responds with, when Eragon talks about religion. It is indeed from Dragon Age: Inquisition. I love that game to bits (the whole series), and you can expect to see more references to it in the future. In fact, some of you have already recognize that the endearment that Helena uses for Godric – My Heart – is from Dragon Age as well, although in this context it’s not romantic love.  
> I’m pleased that all those of you who gave feedback for last chapter thought that Helena’s reaction was due. One pointed out that, if it should be completely realistic, there should have been a few hints in earlier chapters, and I can agree to that. My rationing was simply that she occupied herself so well, first with Godric, then with training, then with hunting Ra’zac, that she didn’t have time to worry, and I tried to touch upon that in this chapter as well.  
> There’s only one more chapter of the originally written chapters, so I hope you’ll look forward to it. After I’ve uploaded that in a few days at most, you will have to wait longer until the next update – now I have to write it from scratch, after all. I won’t give a promise of how often I will update the story after that, but I can get into more detail in next chapter’s author’s notes.  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> Ancient Language Translations:  
> Jierda – Break, Hit


	11. Princesses and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It hasn’t hit any bone. That makes it easier,” Brom told him, and before Eragon could ask how, the old storyteller grabbed the shaft of the arrow and yanked. A large growl emanated from Godric again. A bit of flesh was left on the arrowhead, and if Eragon hadn’t already deposited all of his stomach content a few yards over, he was sure that would’ve done it. Brom clearly didn’t feel like that, because he actually sniffed the bloody arrow. Eragon was sure he was positively green in the face at the moment. Brom scowled. “The arrows were poisoned. There’s nothing we can do about it right now: we need to get as far away from Dras-Leona as we possibly can. Where is my bag? I need to bind her wounds.”  
> “If she’s poisoned, shouldn’t we take care of it right away?” Eragon asked as he put the back of his hand against Helena’s forehead. He visibly winced: she was burning up.  
> “They wouldn’t use poison which kills right away, only something which will slow the target down and incapacitate them,” Brom told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Eragon could not say how things had gone so terribly bad so terribly quickly. Aside from the, erm... Episode Which Should Never Be Mentioned Again that morning, the day had been great. He was ecstatic, even: they were _this_ close to finding Garrow’s killers, and he would finally be able to take his revenge on them. Then he had insisted on entering the cathedral, _despite_ Helena’s protests, and everything had gone to damnations after that.

His mind had been in a haze ever since the Ra’zac appeared. Sure, it might be an aftereffect of the Ra’zacs’ mind-numbing breaths, but a small voice told him it wasn’t so. This was his instinct kicking in, shoving all inessential thoughts and musings out of his mind, and concentrating on one sole thing: surviving. And it had worked, until a shock ran through his system, of such great magnitude, that not even his instinct-controlled mindset could subdue it.

Helena had been shot. Her horse was dead. She was limping towards them. Eragon almost turned around to pick her up, but Brom stopped him. Instead they stood in that crossroads in the middle of Dras-Leona, shooting arrows at the soldiers in the vain hope of _something_ happening to save them. Eragon’s concentration was broken again when Helena was shot a second time, and he actually became frightened by the amount of power radiating off of her when her eyes _flashed_ before she _blew up the freaking street_. It was good that he wasn’t in his right mind at the moment, because else he certainly would have something to say about what they were actually doing; killing soldiers off, left and right, with frightening ease. The explosion Helena had caused must’ve offed at least two dozen people.

As horrible as it was – most of these men were just trying to make a living, and loved Marcus Tabor no more than he did –, it bought them a few seconds of reprieve, just enough for Helena to make it to the crossroads, limping and bleeding, but her eyes still alit – this time not literally, however.

“Please work.”

The next thing he knew the air hummed all around him and all but grabbed him. There was a fraction of a second where the whole world seemed to freeze, and where the space around them seemed like a strung bow. And then the string snapped, and everything went black. He was pressed very hard from all directions, he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest, his eyeballs were being forced back into his head, and his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull. Just as he thought that he might actually be dying, that some magician had managed to cast a spell on him, he was all but spat onto the ground.

Cadoc collapsed under him, throwing him off in the process, and Eragon didn’t hesitate to get on all fours and throw up all he had eaten in the last week.

“What the hell was that!?” Eragon exclaimed when he finally got his gag reflex under control. He sat with his head between his knees, trying to get control of his senses again. He frowned when he didn’t get any answer. “Helena?”

Again, no answer met Eragon’s question; instead a loud roar – a dragon’s roar, Eragon idly recognized– sounded, and a flash of red came towards him. He wouldn’t lie: he froze in fear. Anyone would if a dragon, even one as young as Godric came charging towards them, wings unfurled to make him look several times larger, and teeth bared. Before any harm could come to Eragon, however, Saphira came roaring in as well, tackling Godric to the side.

‘ _It’s your fault!’_ Godric roared into Eragon’s mind, such intensity accompanying it that it actually felt like the foundation of his mind shook. That Godric spoke to him surprised Eragon, as the ruby dragon usually stayed away from him. In fact, he barely spoke to anyone but to Helena – even Saphira only got a few words out of him, which Eragon knew hurt her deeply. ‘ _Your weakness! She was only in there because of **you**!_ ’

‘ _Calm down!_ ’ Saphira all but ordered Godric. That, of course, resulted in a large hiss erupting from Godric’s throat, and Eragon was certain fire would be involved if Godric had been old enough. The Blue Rider was frozen where he stood.

‘ ** _Calm down!?_** _It is **your** Rider’s fault!’_ Godric roared, both in his mind and in actuality. ‘ _It was his shameless cowardice which brought **my** Rider in danger! It is through his utter incompetence that Helena is now hurt!’_

“What?” Eragon exclaimed with wide eyes as he unfroze once again. Yes, he had been worked up about the insults thrown his way – he knew that Godric didn’t think highly of him, but he had no idea it went that far –, but the growing anger was quickly replaced by fear and confusion. “What do you mean?”

Finally, Eragon actually got a look of his surroundings. They were in a clearing surrounded by not-quite a forest, and weren’t far from a large body of water. Cadoc and Snowfire stood in the shallows, looking about as well as Eragon felt. On the horizon Dras-Leona was just barely visible, and from Helgrind’s position beside it, Eragon knew that they were south of the city. Only a few feet away Godric laid clenched under Saphira slightly larger form, his right wing bending in such a way under Saphira left claw, that it was made clear that the Blue Dragon could break it if she wished so. Finally, on the other side of the clearing Helena lay motionless, Brom (also looking quite queasy) taking her vitals.

For a moment nothing quite made sense in Eragon’s head. Yes, Helena was human (or at least kind-of), and she could get hurt, and had gotten hurt before, just as easily as anyone else could. But she was still _Helena_. In Eragon’s eyes she was larger than life. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and it was unimaginable for her to get hurt. Like, truly hurt. Like, not recovering hurt. Even when she had been shot by arrows, the thought that she might _not_ get up again had never crossed Eragon’s mind.

He bolted over to her still form.

“Stupid, irresponsible, self-sacrificing girl,” Brom muttered in an angry tone. Eragon, however, could see how worried he was. Helena and Brom didn’t get along, Eragon knew that, but somehow they had come to trust and depend on each other. At least he thought so. How, he didn’t know, because they couldn’t speak for more than a few minutes with each other, without sniping. But they were similar – that was proven enough when the old storyteller approved of Helena’s way of getting information in Dras-Leona.

“What happened?” Eragon asked, looking over Helena. She was pale and her skin was clammy. What stood out to him the most, however, was her breathing: it was irregular and strained. Eragon wasn’t a healer, but even he knew something was wrong.

“What happened? _What happened?_ I’ll tell you what happened! Your friend had the inane notion  to magically transport several thousand pounds several leagues, that’s what happened!” Brom harshly spat at him. He turned back to Helena and prodded around her wounds.

The second arrow had only grazed her, although leaving quite a gash in its wake. The first arrow, however, was still embedded in her shoulder – Eragon quickly thanked the powers that be that she had landed on her stomach.  If she hadn’t, Eragon could only imagine how much more damage the wooden projectile could’ve done.

“It hasn’t hit any bone. That makes it easier,” Brom told him, and before Eragon could ask how, the old storyteller grabbed the shaft of the arrow and yanked. A large growl emanated from Godric again. A bit of flesh was left on the arrowhead, and if Eragon hadn’t already deposited all of his stomach content a few yards over, he was sure that would’ve done it. Brom clearly didn’t feel like that, because he actually _sniffed_ the bloody arrow. Eragon was sure he was positively green in the face at the moment. Brom scowled. “The arrows were poisoned. There’s nothing we can do about it right now: we need to get as far away from Dras-Leona as we possibly can. Where is my bag? I need to bind her wounds.”

“If she’s poisoned, shouldn’t we take care of it right away?” Eragon asked as he put the back of his hand against Helena’s forehead. He visibly winced: she was burning up.

“They wouldn’t use poison which kills right away, only something which will slow the target down and incapacitate them,” Brom told him. His scowl deepened as he turned to Eragon, “Did you forget my bag back at the inn?”

“No, Helena took them,” Eragon answered. Then he hesitated. “I think she put it down in her own bag.” Both he and Brom knew that only Helena was able to take things from that bag – something she wasn’t able to do right now.

Brom cursed under his breath.

Eragon looked around the clearing for anything that could be used to bind the wounds. They weren’t bleeding a whole lot, and while Eragon would normally be thankful for that, he wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or bad thing if she was poisoned. He didn’t know whether the wounds simply never had been that bad, or if Helena had managed to do something before she fell unconscious. He just didn’t know.

It was Eragon’s turn to scowl. Once again he found him in the position where one he cared for lay at death’s door. And once again, he could do nothing. He had sworn he would never be in that position again, and yet here he was. He made up his mind; as soon as they were out of this mess, he would ask Brom to teach him more about healing people. Eragon didn’t need to be a master, he just needed to be good enough to patch people together enough for them to make it to someone that could actually heal them.

The Blue Rider breathed out harshly. The wounds might not bleed a lot, but they were bleeding enough. Much he might not know about poison, but it was generally a good idea _not_ to lose a whole lot of blood.

Finding nothing to bind Helena’s injuries, Eragon saw no alternative and shrugged out of his coat and took off his shirt. Ripping it in pieces and he handed the scraps to Brom, who quickly got working, Eragon prayed that she wouldn’t get an infection. It was only a few days since he had taken a bath, but the recent exertion in Dras-Leona had drenched it with sweat. It was far from optimal, but it was all they had.

“Saphira, let Godric go,” Brom told as he had bandaged Helena. He picked her up and walked over to the two dragons. Saphira hesitated.

‘ _I won’t kill your Rider,_ ’ Godric sneered. ‘ _Now get off._ ’

Saphira sniffed, clearly offended. ‘ _As you wish_.’

“Eragon, you will fly on Saphira,” Brom told him as he put Helena onto Godric and began strapping her to his saddle. Godric visibly relaxed being close to his Rider again. Eragon didn’t feel the same.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Eragon argued. “She could fall off. She could ride with me, or-.“ He was interrupted by a large growl from Godric.

‘ _You have done more than enough,_ ’ Godric told him, leaving no room for argument.

Brom simply shot the male dragon a deadpanned look before turning to Eragon. “She will be far safer in the air. You know that.”

Eragon was about to argue, had his mouth open to retort back at Brom, but something in him stopped him. ‘ _Use your head – it’s there for a reason!’._ It could perfectly have been Brom who had said that, but it was actually Helena. No, she wasn’t as much after him, or at all, as Brom was, but when it came to rushing thoughtless into battle, or doing something without thinking about it, she could get severely annoyed with him. The Blue Dragon Rider still didn’t know what had happened in that last war, who she had lost, to have beaten that lesson so hard into her head, but she was adamant to teach it to him before he would learn it the hard way, too. That was what she had told him, anyway.

“Fine,” Eragon sighed. Brom’s only answer was a grunt as he went over to the horses, who had calmed down some.

“Keep to the air this time,” Brom told him sternly. He had grabbed Cadoc’s reins before mounting Snowfire. “I want no heroics from you. I know you want to get the Ra’zac, but you have no chance of doing that when they know you are coming, and especially not when they are backed by several legions of soldiers.”

“I get that,” Eragon half-snapped. Normally Brom would’ve slapped him over the nose like a dog when it had done wrong – no, really, he would _slap him over the nose like a dog who had done wrong_ –, but for the moment the old storyteller didn’t seem to care. He glanced worriedly over at Helena strapped to Godric’s back.

“Stay together,” Brom continued, mostly aimed at Godric. The ruby dragon rolled his eyes but made a sound in the back of his throat, which they had learned to recognize as acknowledgement. “We’ll be riding south, and you’ll follow from the air. I don’t care whether or not Saphira and Godric are seen. The stunt Helena pulled will have revealed that something is off.” That he referred to Helena by her name, and not ‘Girl’ or something of the like, told Eragon how worried he was. “Understood?”

“Yes,” Eragon nodded, mounting Saphira. She didn’t hesitate and took off right away, Godric not far behind her. Eragon glanced over at the ruby dragon, and was relieved he was staying close by. Well, close-ish: he was quite the distance away, but it wouldn’t take more than a minute to get to him.

‘ _Are you all right?’_ Saphira asked after a few minutes of silence.

‘ _Yes, but just barely,_ ’ Eragon asked. His eyes flickered over to the ruby dragon again, taking in the limp figure on his back. ‘ _I wouldn’t have been if not for Helena._ ’ Acknowledgement flowed from Saphira, but she didn’t comment on it.

‘ _All this time hunting the Ra’zac has been for naught,_ ’ Saphira said, puffing out some smoke from her nostrils. She was annoyed.

‘ _I know_ ,’ Eragon responded as he sighed. ‘ _And, yet…_ ’ Once again, his eyes flitted to Helena. After a few moments of silence, he turned back to Saphira. ‘ _What do you think of Helena?_ ’

‘ _Not as much as you, but that isn’t saying much,_ ’ Saphira responded, deep chuffing sounds sounding from her chest. She was laughing. ‘ _I wouldn’t be surprised if you suddenly started worshipping her._ ’

Eragon blushed hard. ‘ _That’s not funny._ ’ He looked away. ‘ _Besides, I’m trying not to. Or I’m at least trying to not let it interfere with how I act around her. There’s no future there.’_ Again, Saphira didn’t comment on it, and this time there wasn’t even a flow of acknowledgement.

‘ _For what it’s worth, I think she has a good influence on you,_ ’ Saphira finally answered Eragon’s question. ‘ _You keep thinking what she does and says is strange, but to me it is no more strange than what you and Brom sometimes say and do. And she’s strong. I don’t distrust her._ ’

Eragon smiled softly. That was saying a lot coming from Saphira. It took quite a bit of time before she admitted not to distrust Brom.

The next hours were spent in silence. Saphira’s and his thoughts freely flowed between them, but they didn’t _speak_ to each other. Eragon also tried to check on Godric a few times, but was rebuffed, rather violently, each time. Regardless of that, the ruby dragon stayed at the same distance the whole time, attempting at no time to leave them.

The land, which had been lush and fertile around Leona Lake and Dras-Leona, had quickly turned dry and harsh as they made way out onto the plains. The earth was more like sand than anything else, and only hardy plants like gnarled bushes and cacti grew here and there. While it wasn’t as big of a surprise for Eragon as it had been the first time, when they had been travelling from Daret towards Teirm, it was still unpleasant.

‘ _It looks like we’ll have a storm this time, as well,_ ’ Saphira commented. Eragon’s eyes, which had been observing the ground below them, snapped up to look at the horizon. His face soured when he spotted the dark clouds on the horizon. ‘ _It’s too big to fly above or around._ ’

‘ _We’ll fly until we can’t,_ ’ Eragon decided after a moment of consideration. ‘ _Then we’ll join Brom on the ground._ ’ Saphira grunted.

They were able to fly for far less time than either Eragon or Saphira would’ve liked, but the wind was getting harsh. Several times Saphira had been tossed around the air rather violently, and if it wasn’t because of how much Eragon had flown with her before, he was sure he would’ve been tossed off. When Godric also was hit by one of those gusts of wind, Helena being tossed around his back like a ragdoll, Eragon finally signaled Saphira to descent. Godric followed their lead.

“It’s the wind,” Eragon answered at Brom’s questioning look. “It’s too harsh.”

Brom made a face. “It’s not too bad.”

“It is up there,” Eragon motioned up into the sky.

The old storyteller swore, but accepted it. Eragon mounted Cadoc, as Saphira would have hard enough of a time running on the ground without him on her. Godric was the same, of course, but Eragon was rather sure he didn’t want to part with his Rider, so they let her stay on him. Eragon cursed the soldiers who had killed Allie, not only for their inconvenience now, but also for having caused this whole mess.

Eragon couldn’t help but to think, that they were quite a sight: two horses and their riders, followed by two dragons, one of them with a woman on top of him. He shook the thoughts from his head and focused on riding. They couldn’t go full speed since the dragons needed to run rather than fly – he did not want a repeat of what had happened in the last storm they had been caught in, where Saphira was almost blown away –, but they were by no means slow.

They continued like that until the storm also began to become harsh on ground level. Knowing Brom, Eragon would’ve guessed they would’ve continued like that, if it wasn’t because the sun was about to set as well. Riding in the dark they could do, and riding in a storm they could do as well, but not both at the same time. That, and Eragon had seen him throw worried looks at Helena a few times.  Eventually the old storyteller guided them off of the road to take shelter behind two large rocks.

“Start a fire,” Brom instructed Eragon, as he himself began to unstrap Helena from Godric. Again, Eragon was surprised that Godric made no move to prevent Brom from taking his Rider, but he must know as well as anyone that she needed help.

While there wasn’t much of firewood, there were a few of the gnarled bushes. Eragon broke the driest of the branches off, before making the fire and lighting it with a spark of magic. It was producing more smoke than he would’ve liked, but it was all they got for the moment. He glanced over at Brom and Helena: The old storyteller had been taking her vitals again, and he actually looked relieved. That alone calmed Eragon some. When he finally approached the two, Brom was chewing some kind of plant into a mush, before putting it into Helena’s wounds.

“How is she?” Eragon asked, squatting down beside Brom.

“Not as bad as she could be, unbelievably,” Brom told him, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t know if she has recovered from the aftereffects of whatever she did, but her vitals are getting stronger.”

“And the poison?”

“I think she’s fighting it off,” Brom said, making a face. “Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know.” Something clicked in Eragon’s mind: that explained his face.

“She did say that she had been bitten by a basilisk, and saved by phoenix tears,” Eragon mentioned, still having no idea what a phoenix was – but to be fair, that wasn’t different from most of the time Helena referenced creatures or objects from her world. “Could that have something to do with it.”

“It’s possible,” Brom answered slowly. “I wouldn’t know either way. I guess we should just be thankful that she isn’t getting worse.”

“What is the plant for, then?” Eragon asked, referring to the green, chewed-up mush in her wounds.

“To prevent infections and to speed up the healing,” Brom told him. “It only grows around lakes like Leona, Tüdoseten, and Isenstar. It’s why it’s called lakeweed. We’re fortunate that I had some left in my pocket, as dry as it is by now.” The old storyteller then wetted some fabric and put it on Helena’s forehead.

Eragon sighed heavily and simply sat looking at Helena’s face. It contorted from time to time, showing that she was in pain. As much as he wished for her not to be in pain, he was happy that she at least had reactions to the pain. If she hadn’t… He didn’t know much about healing and medicine, but he knew that would’ve been bad. What was it Helena had called it? Every cloud had a silver lining? Yes, he thought that was it. So he just had to hold onto that silver lining.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, simply looking at her as Brom worked with her. He only knew that he needed it. As he did, his thoughts slowly but surely started to wander.

Eragon, at times, didn’t feel worthy to be called a Dragon Rider. Didn’t feel worthy to have _become_ a Dragon Rider. Thinking back, he almost blushed at his naivety; he had planned to raise Saphira in the Spine, and had thought that everything would stay the same. He had been so… awed, and caught up in the excitement, that he hadn’t thought of the ramifications. He didn’t think of the Order that had been slaughtered a century ago, didn’t even imagine that he would be expected to rebuild it. He hadn’t thought of Galbatorix, and the Black King’s reaction to the rise of a new Rider: Eragon didn’t think of either bowing to the Oathbreaker, or opposing him. He hadn’t thought of any of that, and hadn’t wanted to, even a long time after Garrow’s death.

While it helped that Saphira assured him that she had chosen right – ‘ _I waited for over a century for the right person, Little One. Thousands of persons passed by my egg in the hopes of me hatching, but I chose you. And a dragon does not choose wrong._ ’ –, it didn’t do away with the doubts. Comparing himself to Helena only made them worse. That Brom actually seemed to trust Helena, and that he did despite their endless squabbles and disagreements, hurt Eragon. When Helena talked others listened, and Brom listened for sure, even if he was droll and surly about it. When Eragon talked, Brom was ready with a lecture.

Helena didn’t seem to have had a problem with thinking of the ramifications of becoming a Rider. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider hadn’t told him of her intentions until that day, but Eragon had figured it out a while ago. For Helena it had never been a question of ‘if’ she would oppose the Black King, it had been a question of ‘how’ and ‘when’. It had always been like that. She didn’t even have a stake in the war that must be brewing; she wasn’t a native of Alagaësia, it wasn’t her people that were killed by urgals, it wasn’t her home that was being burned down. And yet she persisted.

Helena wasn’t perfect, Eragon knew that. When he had first met her in Teirm, he had even noticed her directness and callous disregard for what others thought of her. Living with her for months on end, that observation was proven true. She was headstrong, she had a sharp tongue, she was harsh – most of all on herself –,  and she tended to lecture at times (not that Eragon made it hard with some of the blunders he committed). But she was aware of that, and even seemed to partially embrace those qualities, where others would shy away from them.

Perfect she might not be, but, Eragon thought, she was pretty close. He winced as he realized Helena would not at all like that he was thinking that. But, honestly, he didn’t know if his words could do her justice. Of all the words he had learned throughout his life, even the many new, and oftentimes colourful, words he had learned from his fellow Dragon Rider, none of them came even close to describing the being that Helena was.

It would be superfluous to point out that she was beautiful. Anyone with eyes in their heads could see that. She might not be traditionally beautiful, being too tall, too muscly, had too many scars to be that, but no-one would deny that she was beautiful. Eragon had never seen anyone like her before, and would be very surprised if he did see someone like her again.

But as beautiful as she was – and, oh gods, sometimes Eragon had to catch himself in just sitting and starring stunned at her –, her looks seemed almost inconsequential after you caught just a glimpse of the person she was.

Her mind was just brilliant. She had said that she wasn’t truly smart, but that she just worked hard to learn a lot, and Eragon got that. But that she was curious enough about the world to ask questions was something Eragon could appreciate. She was also wise, many times speaking like one of those characters that had been in Jeod’s books, like she had a deep hat where she could pull life advices up from. He had stumbled over that the first weeks, having a hard time believing that was how she talked, but it was. And she had this dry humour which sometimes baffled him. She wasn’t, slap-on-the-knees-wheezing-for-breath funny, and she didn’t tell jokes, but she was sharp of wit.

Standing next to her, Eragon many times felt more than just a tad inadequate. Compared to him, she almost felt ageless. Looking into those green eyes of hers, you could almost feel how much she had been through. She had grown up on another world, she had grown up in a society revolving around magic, she had fought in a war, she had won a war. She was only three years older than him, and yet she had seen things he wouldn’t even be able to imagine. It wasn’t only her mind that was similar to a dragon’s, her whole being was.

It didn’t matter what she did or what situation she entered into, she always seemed to exude confidence and self-assurance. She _knew_ who she was, and she didn’t give a damn about what anyone else thought of her. If she was going to change for anyone, then it was going to be for herself and no one else.

Eragon had thought a lot about it. Helena had told him several times that she believed in him, but had never pressured him in one direction or the other. She almost seemed frightened at the influence that she held, especially over him, and seemed to do all she could to minimize it. But while, yes, she did work an influence on him, Eragon was able to think for himself, and this was the conclusion he had reached: If a young woman like her didn’t hesitate in opposing Galbatorix, for seemingly no other reason than that it was _right_ , how could he do any less? Their encounter with the slavers only reinforced that conclusion, reminding him of just how much he could do to help others.

The hero-worship aside, Eragon also knew that he was hopelessly and irrefutably in love with her person. Apparently she knew as well – though Eragon doubted she knew the intensity of his feelings – as she had told it herself at lunch. He didn’t know whether to be happy or… something about it, because even if she knew, she hadn’t acted on it.

Eragon had only asked for advice about girls once in his life. It wasn’t because there had been any particular girl he had had his eyes on, but before Saphira he knew how his life would look, and knew that he someday would be courting a girl – or, rather, a woman. Even before Marian had died, Garrow hadn’t been the best to give advice on such matters. So, of course, Eragon had gone to Marian for advice. She had been surprised at his quiet question, but had quickly smiled softly at him, picked him up, and had put him on the kitchen counter.

‘All women are princesses in their own way, lad,’ Marian had told him with a secretive smile. ‘Once you realize that, it’s merely a matter of figuring out what manner of monster they need slain.’

That... was a long time ago. Eragon didn’t remember how old he had been, but he couldn’t have been much more than seven or eight. And ever since then, the secret had been more or less consistent in his dreams. For years, while girls had held that strange diseases that they do between age eight and thirteen, Eragon was more interested in the monster-slaying part of the secret he had been told. Sure, the princesses had been present, but they had been no more than shadows in towers or in the claws of the monsters – an object which would lead Eragon to the monster-slaying part. As the years had gone by, the dreams had begun to shift in tone, and the shadows had begun to take shape. Many different shapes: blonde, brunette, redhead, tall, short, large, petite, well-endowed, and flat as a board. Everything imaginable. And always faceless. They had never been consistent, not but for the part that the dreams revolved around the secret Marian had told him.

Since Saphira hatched for him, while the dreams had still been there, they had been subdued. Of course there had been dreams, and less than noble dreams, but he had mostly been occupied with surviving and grieving and hating. It should, then, be refreshing to have the secret he had been told in the flickering candlelight of their kitchen suddenly insist to be in the forefront of her mind. And a part of him felt like it was, but another part of him…

The princesses in his dreams were no longer vague, faceless apparitions. Helena was a princess. _The_ princess. His dreams would never change again, he was sure of that, but he had to live with that.

Eragon wanted to know what she had been through. Eragon wanted to know her history, he wanted to know where she was from, and he wanted to know her family and friends. Eragon wanted to know what had made her into the person she was, and he wanted to know what dream she chased to keep going.

Eragon wanted to know what made her happy. He wanted to know what kind of books she picked up when she needed to have a good time, and he wanted to know what thoughts put a smile on her face.

And Eragon wanted to protect her. It was silly, as most of the time Helena seemed to save _him_. There was also the fact that if he ever mentioned it to her, she would get that cross look on her face and tell him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need to be protected. ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ and all that, though he still wasn’t sure what it meant.

The princess Helena might be, but Eragon couldn’t act on it. He couldn’t ask her all the questions he wanted, as he had not right to ask them. Because Helena was Helena, and Eragon was just… Eragon.

From the edge of camp he could feel Saphira’s eyes bore into him. She didn’t say anything, neither positive nor negative, just like when they had been flying. And Eragon honestly didn’t know what he wanted her to say – he didn’t even know if he wanted her to say anything. At least she didn’t hate Helena, or even dislike her. He wasn’t sure how he should handle her hating such an important person in his life. Because, yes, Helena had become important to him.

Eragon sighed again.

“Come,” Brom broke him out of his musing with a tap on his shoulder. “You should eat.”

Eragon didn’t follow right away, but after seeing Godric out of the corner of his eyes, the attack that happened only hours earlier still fresh in mind, he quickly stood up and went over to the fire. Behind him he could hear Godric get closer to Helena, and when he looked over his shoulders he saw him being curled around her only barely without touching her – the gods only knew she didn’t need a dragon’s heat with the fever she had going on, but he most definitely wasn’t the one who was going to point that out verbally.

Brom handed him a piece of dry bread, which most fortunately had been forgotten in the saddle bag. It wasn’t exactly the most appetizing thing he had eaten, but neither the worst. It was the only thing they had, since the rest was locked inside Helena’s purse. Thus the ‘most fortunately’ part.

Taking a bite of the bread, Eragon chewed slowly but surely. It was only then that he noticed just how hungry he was, everything that had happened in the last hours having pushed his hunger to the recesses of his mind.

“Do you know how they discovered us?” Eragon asked after the small meal.

Brom sighed. “One of the servants at the palace warned me that there were spies amongst them. Thinking back, he might’ve been one, and only wanted to see my reaction to such information. In either case, the spies must’ve had their suspicions about me. Thus Tábor found out, and through him, the Ra’zac.”

There was of silence. “We can’t return to Dras-Leona, can we?” The Blue Rider already knew the answer to the question, and didn’t really know why he asked the question.

“Not for a few years,” Brom answered wryly. “It’s one thing that they want to get their hands on you, but after how Helena got us out of there… The city will be full of the Black King’s magicians soon enough, trying to discover how she did it.”

“How _did_ she do it?” Eragon asked with a frown. “And what did she do?”

“It’s called teleportation,” Brom answered him. He fingered his pipe, looking like he wanted to light it. Apparently he thought better of it, and packed it away again. “It’s pretty unique when it comes to magic, as the distance doesn’t increase the energy-requirements. The size of the object being transported does increase the energy-requirements, however, and quite exponentially at that. I can’t even imagine how much energy she used up getting us _and_ the horses out of there. If I were to take a guess, I think her being unconscious has more to do with her having used up that magic core of hers rather than the poison.”

Quite vividly, Eragon got a flashback to when _he_ had passed out due to overusing magic. Both Helena and Brom had been furious with him, the former being more restrained and cool about it. And what was it Helena had told him then? ‘ _When you use magic, it drains you physically. When I use magic, it drains my magical core. And when we use magic past our limitations, the consequences can be extremely severe._ ’

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Eragon asked.

“The fact that she is still alive, and that she actually managed to teleport us, tells us that it could’ve been a lot worse,” Brom said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Had either you or I tried it, not only wouldn we have been unable to pull it off, we would’ve died from the attempt. As always, I don’t know much when it comes to her, but I think she’ll be okay, given enough time to recover.”

“Which isn’t exactly easy when fleeing from an army and two inhuman creatures,” Eragon laughed bitterly.

Brom smiled wryly. “She’s not the only one in danger. Right now it’s about all of us focusing on staying alive. Helena did give us an advantage of not leaving a trail right out of the city, but the Ra’zac will still be able to pick it up. And tonight we’ll be in the most danger: the Ra’zac are strongest at night, and they will take advantage of that. We’ll need to take shifts throughout the night.”

“All right,” Eragon sighed and he stood up. “I’ll take the fi…” he trailed off as he looked out into the darkness, where the light of their campfire didn’t reach. Had he just seen something?

“What is it?” Brom asked, having brought his pipe out again, and was currently struggling with getting it lit. The rocks only covered from the wind so much.

Eragon hesitated. “I don’t know.  It must’ve been a bird.” He had barely finished his sentence when a sharp pain erupted from the back of his head. Loud roars sounded, both Saphira’s and Godric’s. That sent his heart galloping – Godric surely wouldn’t roar over him, so something must’ve happened to Helena as well. Then he crashed into the earth, the last sensation being the inhalation of warm dust into his lungs.

~ BWaC ~

It was several things that roused Eragon from his unconscious state. The dust in his throat and lungs which were like daggers with each breath he took. The chill in the air which seemed to sap the strength from him. The incredible waves of pain in his head which washed over him as his heart beat along. But all these things were more or less ordinary in the plainest sense of the word: something he had come to expect, albeit at a lesser extent, since his travels with Brom had started. Something which was _out_ of the ordinary, and which made the hair on the back of his neck stand, was the hissing going on, sounding almost like a snake.

His eyes snapped open, but quickly winced and shut them close again as a bright lantern  glared into them. That certainly didn’t help his growing headache. A small amount of panic spread through him when he tried cup his forehead with his hand, only to discover that his hands were bound behind his back. Squashing the panic, the former farmer’s son took a deep breath. Slower this time, as to not assault his eyes quite as much, he glanced around. It didn’t take long for him to spot what – or rather who – was making the hissing noises, and a great amount of very different feelings flashed through him.

Relief; Helena was awake, although looking haggard, clammy, and exhausted, and did not look to appreciate the sitting position she had been forced into. Fear; one of the Ra’zac was kneeling right in front of Helena, its hooded face only a dozen inches away from her. Anger; _one of the Ra’zac was kneeling right in front of Helena, its hooded face only a dozen inches away from her¸_ and he would be damned if they were going to steal another important person away from his life. Confusion: it was not only the Ra’zac who were making the hissing sounds, but also _Helena_. And it was looking like they were having a conversation.

The Blue Rider knew that he only a month or two ago would thrash about trying to do something – _anything_ –, but he could honestly say that he wasn’t that boy (because, really, Helena had been right about that – like she usually was) anymore. He wasn’t even the same person he had been when they arrived in Dras-Leona, because even with all the training he had gone through, he had still _stupidly_ walked into that Cathedral, and not only that, but also lost track of his surroundings. Helena had once said that if she could prevent him from making the same mistakes she had made in her past, it had all been worth it, but he was quickly proving a disappointment in that regard.

He needed more information about the situation. His eyes swept across the campsite and quickly spotted Brom lying in the dust not only a few feet away, arms bound. Again, many feelings flushed through him, the most prominent one being relief. But why would he feel relief at seeing Brom bound and unconscious, basically the same situation as Eragon was in? It took him a few moments to figure it out: the Ra’zac wouldn’t bind a dead man.

Eragon frowned as he began to feel more and more out of sorts, mentally. The clarity he had possessed only moments before when he had spotted Helena was quickly fading. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the Ra’zac had drugged him, but why had he had that burst of clarity? That adrenaline thingy that Helena had talked about? He didn’t really understand, but-.

Eragon cut himself off from that train of thought. Clearly the drug wasn’t only affecting his ability to concentrate, but also messed up his priorities. Right then and there was not the moment to figure out why he had had a burst of clarity.

Clanking and clatter made his eyes snap quickly to its source. It might sound paranoid (or perhaps not, taking the present situation under consideration), but with the life he lived since leaving Carvahall, seven out of ten times the sound of metal either meant soldiers or a drawing of a sword. Sometimes both. At the beginning of their journey, it had been Brom most of the time, him wanting to teach Eragon never to let his guard down. The price of failure being slapped in the head with the flat of his sword. Brom always said that-.

Again Eragon chased the thoughts away.

It was the other Ra’zac putting a muzzle made out of metal on Godric which had made the noise. His wings were strapped to his body by two metal chains, and one of his wings didn’t look entirely well. To the right of him Saphira was in similar attire, bar the messed up wing.

Anger. Utter, deep, and utterly justified anger. Rage, even.

With Helena and Brom he was able to keep himself in check. But seeing his heart’s friend, and even seeing Godric, muzzled and bound like beasts of burden or like that bear the carnival that visited Carvahall with the traders once, that was _unacceptable_.

Bolting up as well as he could, making all eyes snap to him, he could feel the word of the Ancient Language which would kill the Ra’zac almost make it out of him, before it slipped between his fingers. He must have looked bewildered, his face contorted in rage and mouth half open, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the words, the _spells_ , in the Ancient Language.

A deep chuckling, a rasping sound that not only scraped the throat it was emitted from but also Eragon’s ears, came from the Ra’zac by Helena. “The drug issss working, yesss? I think you will not be bothering ussss again."

“Not even your beasssts will be able to help you now,” the other, smaller, Ra’zac hissed as he finished with Godric’s muzzle. The ruby dragon let out a deep growl which seem to vibrate the earth itself, but the Ra’zac paid him no mind: they knew he could do very little bound and muzzled as he was. “They were mossst cooperative oncccce we threatened to kill you," the smaller Ra’zac continued in its hissing voice. “Although the male did put up some resssistanccce. Luckily, he won’t be needing that wing for a while.”

“Why not jussst cut it off while we’re at it?” the larger one almost seemed to taunt. That made Helena erupt in hissing with her eyes promising hell, and for the first time since Eragon had regained consciousness, the Ra’zac were on guard… scared. Hell, they were outright terrified. But why?

“I think thissss will be enough,” the smaller Ra’zac decided almost offhandedly. It walked towards its larger counterpart when something reflected the lantern’s light into its hood, making it hiss slightly. It turned to Eragon, its eyes quickly zeroing in on Zar’roc on the ground. Its head tilted in confusion.

Squatting by Eragon, the Ra’zac picked up the blade and took its sweet time examining it. “What a pretty thing to posssssesssss for one sssso… inconssssequenttttial. Perhaps it ssssshould go to ssssomeone more important, like mysssself.” It leaned forward towards Eragon, and he had to suppress a shudder as he got a look directly up its hood.  A sneer spread across its face and it looked unmistakably cruel. “Or perhapssss, if you act pretty and obedient, the Masssster will let you polissssh it.” Its breath smelled like rotten meat, almost making the Blue Rider gag. A retort was right on Eragon’s tongue, when the Ra’zac turned the blade and let out an inhuman shriek. Eragon’s eyes quickly flittered to Helena to see if it was something she had done, but an almost unnoticeable shake of her head denied that.

The larger Ra’zac abandoned its vigil by Helena and rushed over to the smaller one. It took a single look at the blade, before all but flinching, quickly followed by a series of hisses. Eragon looked to Helena who was almost looking calculated at the Ra’zac. Was it really possible that she could understand what they were saying?

With a sharp click of the tongue, the two Ra’zac turned to Eragon. The larger one kneeled by Eragon this time. “Yessss, you will sssserve the massster well.”

Squashing the fear, Eragon raised his chin in defiance. “If I was ever to consider that, my first act would be to slaughter and burn you.”

A chilling chuckle sounded from the large Ra’zac. “Oh no, we are too valuable. But you? You are disssspensable.” With a nod towards Helena, it continued, “Your partner lessssss sssso, but her ssssstrange magic more than makessss up for it. I can’t imagine her ssssstaying alive for long… The Black King will be very interesssted in her.”

Growls sounded from Godric and Saphira, smoke emanating from the latter, as the chain rattled and groaned, but staying in one piece, as the dragons struggled against them. The Ra’zac didn’t react to it other than a slight tilt of the head before it was dismissed.

Their attention was diverted to Brom as he groaned and rolled over on his side. The smaller Ra’zac grabbed him by the color of his shirt and hoisted in up into the air without any visible effort. “He isss awakening. It’s losssing its effect.”

“Give him more.”

“Letsss just kill him,” the smaller Ra’zac responded. “We have enough to handle with thesssse two. And he hassss caussssed ussss a lot of trouble.”

The taller one seemed to contemplate it, as it ran its hand up and down its blade. A growing sense of urgency and panic started to bubble up in Eragon despite his efforts, and he began, as quietly as possible, to struggle against his restraints. He didn’t know what he would do against the Ra’zac, especially not when he couldn’t access his magic, but he couldn’t just sit quietly by as they slaughtered Brom.

“A good plan,” the larger Ra’zac answered, “But remember the King’ssss insssstrucccctionssss dictated that we kept them _alive_.”

“He’ll forget everything about the old man when we bring him _her_.”

The larger Ra’zac, who Eragon by now had discerned was more or less the leader, was quiet for a little while. And then he spoke up. “A deal.”

They hauled Brom into the middle of their small campsite and forced him onto his knees. Barely conscious, and clearly not able to control his body, Brom drooped to his right, only kept in the position by the Ra’zac. Not even trying to conceal it anymore, Eragon tugged violently on his bindings, trying for the love of all that was good to break free so he, somehow, in any way, could save Brom.

He froze when the larger Ra’zac’s blade was pointed to his throat. “Now, now, none of that!”

“I thought you needed me alive,” Eragon taunted with all the anger that was inside him. Pressing towards the blade, he felt as the outer top pierced through his skin and a small trickle of blood started to make its way down from his neck.

The Ra’zac hissed and retracted his sword. And then he pressed the sword towards Eragon’s left hand, the one without the gedwëy insignia. “Perhapssss, but alive doessssn’t mean in one piecccce. Now sssstop it!” It stilled and sniffed the air. If Eragon was to read the expression that appeared on the Ra’zac’s face, he would almost say that it was a frown.

Eragon stilled at once, and looked helplessly as the smaller Ra’zac growled and wrenched Brom’s head backwards, and put the edge of his blade on the throat. The Blue Rider shot a desperate look at Helena – perhaps she could use magic, after all. Helena glanced at him with her exhausted eyes, which quickly hardened. Eragon felt hope.

Taking a deep breath, Helena’s face scrunched together in concentration. At first nothing happened, but then, after a few moments, a small spot in the air in front of the Ruby Rider started to light up. Eragon’s eyes widened as the spot grew to a small ball, which grew brighter and brighter. And just when the Ra’zac noticed, it exploded in a blinding flash of heat and light.

The Ra’zac screamed in pain. They weren’t alone, as Eragon hissed and closed his eyes, feeling ten times worse than when he had first regained consciousness and looked into the lantern. The heat washed over Eragon’s exposed skin and stung him.

It was at that point that a small hum sounded in the air, followed by a thump, and then one of the Ra’zac cried out again. Eragon blinked again and again to be able to see what was going on. It was after the seventh blink that he could just make out figures, and the shaft of an arrow sticking out of smaller Ra’zac’s arm. Its dagger, before pressed against Brom’s throat, was now on the ground.

Arrows began to rain down on the camp from invisible attackers. The larger Ra’zac threw itself onto the ground, and Eragon used the opportunity to get up and get to Brom. By then the old story-teller had regained some of his wits, because the moment Eragon was close enough, Brom barreled into him making Eragon fall to the ground.

“Stay down, you fool!” it came from Brom, albeit slightly droopy.

Eragon didn’t pay him much attention, but did as he was told, and turned his attention back to the Ra’zac. They were shrieking like, as Helena would say, banshees, and running around the camp dodging as many arrows as they could, looking most of all like headless chickens. And then, there behind all the commotion, was Helena walking very wobbly towards the dragons, without bindings.

Eragon frowned when he saw her red wrists. It was more than the rope should’ve done, but he quickly got an explanation when he looked to where she had been before: the rope which had restrained her was still burning on the ground.

When he looked back to her, her form shaky as a leaf in autumn, she had made it to Godric. Taking a deep breath, she waved her left hand, her marked hand, towards the dragons, and their restraints fell apart in a large commotion.

That was when the Ra’zac finally noticed. The larger one didn’t hesitate and charged towards her, apparently still convinced that they could pull whatever they had planned off. And they might actually, as Helena looked one step away from falling unconscious again. But her eyes were burning with anger, and in a larger display of power and control, she waved her hand against the charging Ra’zac.

For some reason the Ra’zac didn’t even try to dodge. The result was its lower left arm exploding into pieces of gore, covering a great deal of the camp with its blue-green blood. It shrieked an unholy shriek, clasping its right hand to where the flayed pieces of its left arm were left, just above the elbow.

Several things happened at once then. First of all, Godric charged forward, and with a great tail swipe tossed the large Ra’zac far away from Helena. Not stopping, Godric then clasped Helena in its front claws and took off, whirling a great amount of dust up into the air. Saphira growled loudly, and took off after Godric and Helena, but was stopped by a great flying beast. The Ra’zac finally seemed to have enough, and began their retreat, bolting out of the camp. The smaller Ra’zac, having pulled the arrow out of its arm, followed its larger counterpart. Saphira hurtling onto the ground, having lost the battle with the flying beast. On its way back, the smaller Ra’zac picked up the dagger from earlier, and as it passed Eragon it cruelly kicked him with great force in his chest, pushing the wind out of him. Finally, just as the Ra’zac was leaving the camp, the flying beast flying just above them, the smaller one threw the dagger at Eragon, finally not caring what the Black King wanted. Eragon could see the dagger come at him, but knew he wasn’t fast enough to dodge. Saphira roared. And Brom threw himself in front of Eragon. A small ‘thump’ reverberated throughout the camp as the dagger sunk into Brom’s flesh.

No more than a handful of seconds had passed since the first arrow had hit the smaller Ra’zac.

“No!” Eragon cried out, even as he himself lay crumbled together on the ground, incapacitated by the pain. He heard steps, different from the Ra’zac, but not any he recognized. He tried to turn towards the person who had saved them, even as his vision began to swim in front of him. A mess of dark brown hair leaning over him was the last thing he saw, before his vision went black.

Again.

Geez, he really hoped he wasn’t setting a precedent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go: the final chapter of the originally written chapters of Slowly, And Then All At Once is uploaded. That is almost 100k words revised, some of them rewritten, and some of them just plainly written, in little under three weeks. Personally, I think that’s pretty damned good.  
> Now, inspirations have been drawn from several place for this chapter. A large part has been rewritten/expanded, and that is Eragon’s thoughts about Helena. Like the last few chapters, part of the direction the thoughts went is inspired by Najex’s story. And, of course, the little story that Eragon remembers Marian telling him when he was a child, is inspired by the story ‘Princesses’ by Bladesworn. It’s a sweet little Dragon Age one-shot, and if you have time, I seriously recommend you reading it and showing it your love.  
> Onto a few questions I have gotten, that I want to clarify.  
> The first one is whether or not Godric is Thorn; he is not. Godric did not hatch from the red egg that Galbatorix has. I tried to go over that just after Teirm, but didn’t put anything down definitely. But I am doing that now: Godric is not Thorn. Godric and Thorn doesn’t even look like each other. Godric is ruby-coloured, Thorn is more of a sharp red. Godric has blue eyes, Thorn has red eyes. And, if I recall, Thorn’s spikes are white, whereas Godric’s are also ruby.  
> The second one is about Helena, her manner of speaking, and her character as a whole. I tried going over this in the chapter, but what is said should be taken with a grain of salt, as it is from Eragon’s point of view and influenced by how he sees Helena. Helena does speak a bit funny, wisely, and while it is uncommon, some people do speak like that. I speak a little bit like that, and I do get funny looks thrown my way.  
> Then there is the way her personality seems ‘complete’, like there is nothing left of her to improve. I can actually agree to that for the most part. She isn’t complete complete, as she still has problems, but she has already been through her life-altering journey – basically the Harry Potter books. That has changed her, shaped her, and to ignore that would be a disservice I think. That is in no way a criticism of Najex’s story, as that is really interesting, but I have chosen to do it this way. Right now Helena does seem, and is in fact, much better than Eragon, but Eragon will catch up to her. They will have their strengths and weaknesses, and they will have their own opinion that will, at times, be in conflict with each other. But part of what makes this story interesting, I think, is, in fact, that Helena is already more or less developed. That, in my opinion, doesn’t make her a Mary Sue (although, no one has accused her of being that).  
> Lastly, as always, please do point out any mistakes that you notice, either by review or by PM. A large part of the reason I write fanfiction is to improve my writing. You pointing out my mistakes isn’t being ungrateful, it is doing a great service to me. So, please and thank you.  
> Synthesis


	12. Which Road Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarcastically, she told him, “Right, because I’m going to yell at my heart’s friend while he is injured.” Godric huffed, turning his head away from her. “Now, lift your wing so I can heal y- Where is my bag?”
> 
> ‘Last I saw, the farmer’s boy had it.’
> 
> “... Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Pain, to Helena, had become like an old acquaintance. She was no masochist by any means, but she didn’t shy away from pain either. There was a very simple reason for that; pain was proof that she was still alive. Dark as that may be, after all Helena had been through, it was also comforting. Pain meant that she was alive, and pain meant that she could fight another day. Sure, like any sane person, she hoped for a time, strove towards a day, where she could live a painless existence, but for the moment, pain was a welcome sensation.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t getting thoroughly tired of waking up, aching in pain, with no recollection of how she came to be where she was.

She knew that she had been out for a while. She remembered slipping in and out of consciousness, pain and aching permeating those brief moments. She remembered soothing and talking, warmth and safety, but nothing specific. This was no new sensation for Helena, and she had learned not to fight it. As long as she woke up and felt safety around her, she would let her body take the time it needed to recover.

When Helena finally woke up completely, no fog dimming her mind, her throat was dry and patchy and her eyes crusty. Dull aching thrummed through her body like it only did when she had exhausted her magical core and then some, and a more physical pain emanated from her right side and left shoulder. It was nothing she couldn’t handle. Opening her eyes, the young Dragon Rider blinked in confusion a few times. Her surroundings were red. Not just tinted red, but simply... red. Leathery, with veins on them. It took her a moment to realise that it was Godric’s wing covering her, and that it was the reason why it was so pleasantly warm.

Shifting slightly, the wound on her side flared up in pain, and Helena cursed herself mentally for having spoken too soon. Per reflex, her hand quickly went to the injury, putting pressure on the gash. That only made it worse and she bit down a curse.

‘ _Helena!_ ’ Godric’s booming voice sounded in her mind. Relief flooded her mind through their link. The dragon began to shift, retracting his wing. Winking stars in the night sky became visible, and Helena shivered as a cold gust of wind washed over her. Godric’s head moved into her field of view a moment later, gazing down at her.

‘ _Godric.’_ Merlin, even her mental voice sounded weak. ‘ _How long have I been out?’_

‘ _Four days,_ ’ Godric answered. Helena, who had been preparing herself to sit upright (damn it if the pain was going to stop her), stopped what she was doing and looked at her partner with bulging eyes. Four days; the last time she had been out for that long was... Merlin, she couldn’t even remember if she had ever _been_ out for four days. Magic had a way of exponentially accelerating recovery time after an injury – just take Eragon’s broken wrist, or even her boneless arm in her Second Year, as an example.

That lead to the question: what in Merlin’s name had happened.

She groaned and abandoned the notion of sitting up for now. She had to think... They had arrived in Dras-Leona, hadn’t they? Yes, they had. They had been staying at an inn and had explored the city. She and Eragon had chatted over lunch, and they had stumbled upon a slave trade. And the Ra’zac-.

Helena bolted up, adrenaline suddenly flooding her system. For the first time since awakening, she took a look around. She and Godric were on a small cliff outcropping, a fair distance from the ground. Dras-Leona and Helgrind were nowhere to be seen on the horizon. And she and Godric were alone – neither Eragon, nor Saphira, nor Brom was to be found.

“What happened?” Helena asked her partner. Godric shifted, and almost seemed... hesitant? His mind distanced itself slightly from hers, but she managed to catch the apprehension. Helena narrowed her eyes. “Godric-.”

‘ _What do you remember?’_ Godric asked. With the increased distance between their minds, the undercurrent of emotion that usually went with anything they said was rather subdued. It was unsettling, and Helena didn’t doubt it was the same for Godric. So why in Merlin’s name did he insist on doing it?

“We arrived in Dras-Leona, and we found the Ra’zac,” Helena told him, and frowned. Her face scrunched in concentration and frustration. “We... escaped, didn’t we?”

‘ _You apparated,_ ’ Godric told her. This time she caught the heart-wrenching fear that accompanied his memory. It staggered her with its intensity.

“I... what?” Helena was perplexed. “I didn’t think I could do that here.”

‘ _You did. And then you fell unconscious. You were shot twice.’_

Helena’s attention shifted to the wound on her side, and the dull ache in her shoulder. At least that was explained. But still...

“Where are we, then?” Helena continued her line of questioning. “And where are the others?” Godric’s mind, which had slowly approached hers again, distanced itself again, the apprehension returning. “Oh, what did you do?”

Godric huffed deeply, and then almost sagged together in resignation. Helena startled as his mind entangled itself in hers even more so than they normally were, and before she could ask what he was doing, memories started playing themselves out in her mind’s eye.

A dragon’s memory was different than a human’s, categorising smells and sounds much clearer. It was like they didn’t have the filter that discarded the inessential information. Still, Helena and Godric had shared enough memories for her to be able to handle the slight information overload.

What little colour Helena had in her face slowly drained away, and she soon looked absolutely ashen.

She watched as she, Eragon, Brom, Snowfire, and Cadoc appeared out of thin air, Eragon immediately chundering, and a moment after he got up, Godric attacking him. She watched how Saphira pinned Godric to the ground, as Eragon and Brom stood over her still form, doing their best to patch her up for a moment. She watched as they all fled south, and after encountering a storm that could neither be flown or ridden through, made a camp in the shelter of a few large boulders. She watched as the Ra’zac ambushed them, somehow having tracked them down, and how large winged beasts, which seemed to move far too quietly in the air compared to their size, taking the dragons by surprise for long enough for the Ra’zac to threaten her and Eragon’s lives. And she _bristled_ as they muzzled Godric and Saphira, and tied up the horses, Eragon, Brom, and her.

Then things took a turn for the stranger, as she woke up and started to _speak_ with them. Godric was cut off from her mind by then by a drug the Ra’zac had administered to Helena, so he wasn’t able to understand what she was saying. It frustrated Helena to watch herself having long conversations with the Ra’zac, and not remembering what was said. At some point Eragon woke up, and after some back and forward, Brom also began to stir. When they threatened to kill him, Eragon had shot her a desperate look, and she had cast a spell – lumos solemn she recognised it as. All went to hell, then, when arrows began to rain over the camp, and after the dragons’ release and a Ra’zac arm exploding, she watched, _horrified,_ how Godric snatched her up and fled.

“ _You left them!?_ ” Helena all but screeched. In the silence of the night it sounded unnaturally loud, and for once she didn’t care: it matched how she felt – appalled, aghast, frightened, _furious_.

‘ _You were hurt,_ ’ Godric insisted.

“Oh, and that excuses leaving Brom, Eragon, and Saphira at the hands of the beings who murdered Eragon’s uncle!?” Helena yelled at him. “What in the bloody hell were you thinking!?”

‘ _You know how I’ve felt about you going along with them,_ ’ Godric sneered back at her, the stone below them vibrating to the deep sound. ‘ _I’ve been patient, but I will not sit idly by when you put yourself unnecessarily in danger!_ ’

“And you chose to leave in such a way that they could actually be killed!?” The air around Helena began to hum, her magic reacting to her wild emotions. “What the actual fuck, Godric! No matter how you felt about them, that is no excuse! Ignoring the fact that we’ve lived, trained, and travelled with them for months, ignoring the fact that they are fundamentally good people, _ignoring the fact that I consider them friends_ , you might just have sacrificed the only other free Dragon Rider and dragon to the Black King!”

‘ _Better that than to sacrifice you-.‘_

“ _Don’t!_ ” Helena told him in a voice she had _never_ used on him before. “Don’t you dare use _me_ as an excuse for what you just did, Godric.”

‘ _I stand by what-._ ‘

“ _You might just have left three people to die!_ ” Helena screamed at him, and a large crack appeared in the wall of the cliff – neither of them, however, gave it the slightest attention. Godric reared back then, and then winced and buckled in pain. Worry overtook Helena, for the moment overpowering her rage, and her eyes flew over his body. It only took a moment to find the large gash on his side – ironically mirroring one of her own injuries –, which he had managed to hide with his wing before then. “What happened?”

‘ _The flying... things,_ ’ Godric answered, wincing again. He glanced over at her again. ‘ _Don’t let me stop you. You were screaming and yelling something mighty fine._ ’ Helena’s anger flared again, and she glared at him.

Sarcastically, she told him, “Right, because I’m going to yell at my heart’s friend while he is injured.” Godric huffed, turning his head away from her. “Now, lift your wing so I can heal y- Where is my bag?”

‘ _Last I saw, the farmer’s boy had it.’_

“... Well, shit.”

If potions were out of the question, then magic would have to do. Well, really, magic was almost always the better option, but Helena had never professed to being a Healer; she might’ve learned a few spells out of necessity, as not to need to go to the Hospital Wing so frequently, but that was it. Also, as she had stated before, healing spells were right up there with transfiguration when it came to difficulty in magic – and while a transfiguration mishap might only half transform the object in question, making mistakes when performing healing magics could be fatal. That said, she had (re)gained a lot more control over her magic since bonding with Godric.

From where she was standing, it looked to be a rather nasty gash Godric had gained on his side. If she had been home, she would’ve used the Vulnera Sanetur charm, easily the most complicated healing charm she knew. However, the more difficult the charm, the higher the risk was. So perhaps the Episkey Charm would do; it was designed to heal much lighter injuries than the gash Godric sported, but if she put enough power into the spell, hopefully, it would do enough.

“Alright, your wing,” Helena made a motion with her hand. Godric did nothing. “Lift it.”

‘ _No,_ ’ came the answer.

“No?”

‘ _No._ ’

“Merlin, can you stop being so thrice-damned stubborn,” Helena bit out at him. “Yes, we’re arguing, but that does not mean that I want you to be in pain.”

‘ _Exactly, which is why you’ll heal yourself first,_ ’ Godric countered.

The witch and the dragon stood for a full minute, staring each other in the eyes. Helena was one of the most stubborn people she knew, and it was now evident that she had passed some of that onto Godric while raising the ruby dragon.

Helena sagged together with a sigh. “Fine.”

Dragons didn’t have the muscles to smile per se – not unless they wanted to show a whole toothy grin, which didn’t happen often –, but being connected to Godric’s mind, she could feel the smugness that accompanied it. She glared at her partner again.

Ignoring the cold, Helena was about to shrug out of her shirt to be able to get to her wounds, when she suddenly noticed that she _wasn’t_ wearing a shirt. She was wearing a dress – the one she had worn in Dras-Leona to blend in. And since Eragon had her bag, she couldn’t exactly change into something more comfortable, and _warmer_. Groaning, she decided to count her blessings, and was happy that Brom had accepted her refusal at wearing a corset. As it was, she could shrug out of the top part of the dress; so there she stood, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in a half-worn, torn and bloodied dress and in a bra.

Helena twisted her body slightly and was able to get a clear view of the wound in her side. As she had mentioned, it was a bit of a mirroring of Godric’s injury, although hers was a lot less serious. According to the memory that had been shared with her, it had been caused by an arrow, so again she counted herself lucky. It was a mere flesh wound, and no organs had been pierced.

“Episkey,” she incanted, holding her left, marked, hand over the wound on her right side. Since no broken bones were present, there wasn’t a snap of pain like when Tonks had healed Helena’s nose in Sixth Year. Instead, there was interchangeably sensations of extreme warmth and extreme cold until the skin had knitted itself together. Touching the location gingerly, it was still sore, but no pain flared up. She did the same for the wound on her left shoulder blade, her arm having to bend in a slightly awkward ankle in the process.

“Now your turn,” Helena told Godric. “Lift your wing. And hold it still – if you manage to smack me with it, I’ll be even more cross than I already am.” Well, if he managed to smack her with his wing, chances were that she would be very hurt again.

Godric simply rolled his eyes and complied. A fondness spread in Helena’s chest, and she was reassured by the fact, that even when they were down each other’s throat (this was really the first time they had truly had a row), they were still as close as ever. They had an irrevocable bond, and it wasn’t the Rider-dragon bond she was talking about. She called him ‘My Heart’, and that should tell everything anyone needed to know, when asking about their relationship.

“Bloody hell,” the Ruby Rider muttered as she got up close to her partner’s injury. While Godric had been lucky, in a sense, as a rib had done what it had been designed for and protected his organs, his injury was by no means minor. White bone reflected the starlight, and warm blood oozed from reopened scabs. At the edges of the wound his scales were broken and flayed, and at places, they seemed to cut into the wound as well. This wouldn’t be as easy as simply casting an Episkey charm; she would have to pick out the scales first. “Godric...”

‘ _Just get to it,_ ’ Godric told her firmly, but not unkindly. As their minds were connected again, he had followed her thought process. Worry flooded her system, and Godric’s harshness softened for a moment. ‘ _I’ll be fine. Just... do it so we can get it over with._ ’

Helena nodded with a grimace and then went to work. Deep growling rolled out over the landscape, surely scaring any potential predators or wanderers shitless. Helena could only hope that the Ra’zac were nowhere nearby, or they would surely have no trouble tracking them down. Godric squirmed several times, flinching away instinctually, snapping the air in front of him, and flapping his wings. He made sure, though, to not hurt Helena: as deeply as it sat in his instincts to shy away from things causing him pain, it sat just as deeply to not hurt Helena.

The ruby dragon did get reprieve several times, however. Helena would’ve liked to just get it over with, but dragon blood was not just warm, it was hot. As she picked the broken and flayed scales out of the wound, careful as to not cut herself, scabs also broke off, and fresh blood flooded the wound _and_ her hands. It wasn’t quite boiling or hurting her, but it was _very_ uncomfortable. Taking brakes was in the best interest of them both.

In the end, it took almost forty-five minutes to get all the scales out of the wound. As Helena finally closed the injury with an episkey, Godric sighed in relief, and she saw how the tenseness left his body.

‘ _Thank you, Dear One,_ ’ it came from Godric after a few seconds. He bumped his snout lightly against her forehead – lightly for a dragon, anyway, and if she hadn’t been used to the gesture, it would’ve knocked her off her feet.

“Of course,” was Helena’s answer, smiling as she did, and scratched that special spot below his jaw. “Now, please, take us back.”

Godric brought his head back and stared evenly at her. ‘ _No._ ’

Helena’s anger began to flare again. “Godric-.“

‘ _I will not take you back, because I’m not ashamed of what I did._ ’

“Take. Me. Back,” Helena grit through her teeth.

‘ _No,_ ’ Godric drew out the answer slowly, as if he was explaining something to a simple person. Helena made a big motion with her arms. They were going in circles.

“Fine,” the witch-turned-Dragon Rider snapped at him. “I’ll go there myself.”

‘ _How? You don’t even know where we are._ ’ Godric sounded smug.

Helena made a face at him. “You showed me your memory, you daft prat.” She turned away from him and began walking in the direction she knew the Ra’zac ambush had taken place. Given, it was quite some distance, but if she ran as a wolf she could-

The hair on the back of Helena’s neck rose, but she could do nothing as Godric jumped at her. She had barely taken two steps away from him, and he had her already face down in the dirt.

“Let me go,” Helena all but growled at him.

‘ ** _No_** _,’_ Godric snarled right back at her. And then with a mix of exasperation and desperation, ‘ _You make me go around the bloody bend! I’m just trying to keep you alive!’_

“And I’m trying to keep Eragon, Saphira, and Brom alive,” Helena shot back at him. “You know, despite your efforts to accomplish the opposite!” Godric pushed his paw further into her back, and she winced at his sharp claws.

‘ _I do **not** wish them dead, but placed before a choice between them and you, I will always choose you! Why can’t you get that!’_

“And by abandoning our friends, you might as well just have killed a part of me! Why can’t you get that!?”

‘ _You and your stubborn pride and need to put others before you!’_ Godric roared then, and she felt his warm breath on her body. ‘ _Why can’t you get that because of who you are, you **are** more important than other people.’_

“To you-.”

‘ ** _No_** _, not just to me, to everyone! I will not let you go running off sacrificing yourself again!’_

“What?” That pushed the fight thoroughly out of Helena. “Again? What do you mean?”

A keening sound came from Godric, that cut her right through the soul. She had never heard him emit such a sound. It was horrible.

Probably sensing that she wasn’t going to run off, he lifted his paw from her back and sat back. She turned again and sat up, facing her partner.

‘ _You sacrificed yourself to Tom Riddle so that others got to live,_ ’ Godric told her. Fear and hopelessness filled him as he reflected upon memories she had shared with him months earlier. ‘ _You walked into that forest, faced him, and he **killed** you. You were positive that you wouldn’t return, and you went anyway. If you did that today-._ ’ Godric’s sentence cut off abruptly as another keening sound came out of his throat, and Helena realised that he was _crying_. Well, as close as crying as a dragon could come, and her heart swelled with sympathy.

“Godric...” Helena got up from where she was, and all but ran the few feet that had come between them. The ruby dragon didn’t hesitate and lowered his head to her. She took it in her arms and hugged him tightly. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Godric let out what Helena was sure was meant to be a humourless laugh. As it was, it sounded like a row of hacking sounds. ‘ _When? You’ve had your own problems to deal with. We haven’t really had much time together these past few weeks, with you moving through populated areas and me having to hide. And then you’ve been so focused and worried about Eragon.’_

A stab of guilt hit her. “I’m so sorry.”

‘ _But you shouldn’t be,’_ Godric argued. ‘ _The things you’ve worried about are not inconsequential-.‘_

“-but you are My Heart, Godric,” Helena interrupted him. “ _No one_ in this world – or on Earth – is more important or dear to me. You’ve tried several times to talk to me, but I’ve postponed it. And then shit went down in Dras-Leona...” She sighed heavily. “I’ve lived almost nineteen years where it was just me. But I’m not just me anymore – I am me and you now. And you mean...” where world failed her, she sent the enormity of her feelings for her partner through their link. “I promise, I will _always_ be there to listen to you, and to soothe your worries.”

‘ _You have to realise, that you mean the same to me,_ ’ Godric told her, the keening finally having come to a halt. ‘ _And the thought of losing you is unbearable.’_

“Then you won’t lose me.” As soon as she had said it, she almost felt bile rise in her throat, and she wanted to bite her tongue. She could make no such promise. Godric rumbled as he heard her thoughts.

‘ _I do not need guarantees,_ ’ he told her. ‘ _You’ve raised me right. But I know you, and I know your history. You’ve done it before, so can you truly tell me, that if you had the chance to go up to the Oathbreaker and kill him with a spell, in exchange for your own life, that you wouldn’t take it?’_

“My Heart,” she started, and he brought his head back enough for her to look him into his eyes. She put a hand on his snout and smiled gently. “You are right that I sacrificed myself to Tom so that my loved ones didn’t have to die. And you are also correct, that under similar circumstances, I would do the same again. But these are _not_ the same circumstances. With Tom, there _was_ no other choice.”

‘ _Neither can live while the other survives,_ ’ Godric recited after a moment, and hope finally began to blossom in his chest. She smiled brighter at that.

“I was a Horcrux, albeit a botched one,” Helena agreed. “As long as I was alive, Tom couldn’t be killed. So, yes, I went to my death willingly, after having done all I could to weaken Tom. I left instruction on how to finish the job, and I died.” She paused to let it sink in. “Galbatorix is different. I am confident that he has ancient magics around him, but I am not tied to him like I was with Tom. Even if there was such a spell to kill him in exchange for my own life, there _are_ other ways. Sure, they may be more bloody – _way_ more bloody –, and they may even take years, decades, or even centuries to accomplish, but they are there.”

‘ _You accuse me of having fled with you, leaving the others behind in peril, and yet you claim to be willing to take a path where hundreds-of-thousands might die?_ ’ Godric tone was not accusatory – they were past that now. He truly wanted to know her answer. It was at times like these, that despite him being a dragon, it was obvious that he was still young.

“Yes, absolutely, I claim just that,” Helena confirmed without hesitation. “I would be fighting alongside those hundreds-of-thousands, I would be at the front line at every battle, fighting against Galbatorix at every turn. I would still be putting _my_ life on the line, and I would still be keeping _my_ word. Instead of certain death waiting for me, only a highly likely death would be waiting for me,” she told him. “My Heart, I did my sacrificing already. I fought my battles against Tom and his merry band of loonies. I won my wars. Now, I want to live. I want to live, but that does not mean that I will flee before death. I’m a Gryffindor at heart, and I will fight to my dying breath. What you did? That diminishes my very being.”

Godric didn’t answer right away. ‘ _I don’t know if I told you this plainly before, but I am deeply honoured to have hatched to you, and to have bonded with you.’_

Helena blinked in surprise. “That came out of nowhere.”

Chuffing sounds emanated from the dragon. ‘ _You might not be as suicidal as I thought you were, and you clearly value your own life more than I gave you credit for. But nothing you’ve said here has assured me that you won’t throw yourself into the path of danger for the good of others.’_

“That is who I am, My Heart,” Helena told him softly. “Would you have hatched for me if I was any other?”

‘ _Perhaps not,_ ’ Godric gave. He heaved a deep sigh. ‘ _I will not be the one to diminish your person. I admire your selflessness and willingness to help others, but I also worry about you. But I promise you; I will not try to save you at the cost of who you are.’_

“Then, in turn, I will promise you, that I will listen to you more when you try to keep me safe,” Helena vowed. Godric rumbled. Then Helena sighed. “I guess no matter what, things will have to change now.”

‘ _Indeed.’_

Helena stroked Godric’s snout. “I don’t want to fight again, but no matter which road we choose to travel along now, we need to return first. We need to take responsibility for your actions, and we need to see if the others are unharmed.”

‘ _They... will not be pleased.’_

Helena chuckled. “They will not, My Heart.”

‘ _What do you want to do after?’_ Godric asked of her. ‘ _We cannot go back to hiding. Ignoring what happened in Dras-Leona, you need to be you again.’_

Helena nodded in agreement.  “No more hiding. We’ll ask Brom to take us to the Varden, and if Eragon is still unsure where to go, then ask Brom to at the very least give us direction to the Varden. And if he refuses on both accounts, then we will go look for them on our own.”

‘ _You’ll leave them?_ ’ the ruby dragon asked in surprise.

“They are dear to me, but it is time,” the with-turned-Dragon Rider said. “I need to know that they survived, but it is time for us to become... more than what we have been.”

‘ _I almost thought that you were going to say ‘Become what we were always supposed to be’ or something corny like that,’_ Godric snorted.

Helena rolled her eyes. “I refused Angela’s prophecy. Our destiny is our own.”

‘ _Aaand there came the corny statement._ ’

Helena pushed Godric’s head away with a laugh. “You prat.”

 

~ BWaC ~

Helena and Godric agreed to wait come morning to fly back to the place of the ambush. It had been several days now since the fact, but the Ra’zac might still be about – and if that were the case, Helena would not want to give them any more advantages that they already had, like clashing with them in the middle of the night. On the one hand, if Eragon, Saphira, or Brom was hurt, every moment counted, but on the other hand, if Helena and Godric were hurt or captured, they couldn’t help them anyway.

They had tucked up against the cliff, and Helena had crawled under Godric’s wing again, and they had slept. She would’ve liked to say that they stayed up to talk things more out, but both (although mostly Helena) were exhausted from their injuries. And as the very first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, colouring the skies in deep blues and violets, they took off.

It took them almost forty minutes to reach the location of their ambush. Helena’s respect for Godric only grew; while she thoroughly opposed to how he had fled, he had done so while dodging the winged beast, and with an injury which had barred his bones, all the while keeping her safe. He was a strong one, Her Heart.

“Merlin...” Helena muttered as she dismounted Godric. The site was a mess, and she began to worry for her friends truly. It wasn’t like she wasn’t worried before, with the knowledge that they had been left at the mercy of the Ra’zac, but this...

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider walked around their former camp, taking in everything. Arrows littered the area, some of the impaled in the ground and some of them not. She squatted down – more than just slightly awkward in a dress – and picked one of them up. While it had been ruffed up by the battle, Helena recognised it as being of nice quality. It also wasn’t Empire issued, as they painted the fletching of their arrows red. At least it soldiers who had come to their rescue, although she doubted they would go against the Ra’zac. She dropped the arrow and went on.

A sense of sick satisfaction filled her as she spotted the scattered pieces of black flesh and splinters of bone, spattered in thick purple blood – which somehow hadn’t coagulated even after five days –, spread across a section of the site. Dread quickly overtook her, however, as she spotted a rather large pool of blood. This was coagulated, and it was human.

“Damn it,” it came from Helena. She turned to Godric. “Do you remember anything else when you left?” Left was a nicer word than fled, but they both knew it helped little.

‘ _I am sorry, Dear One,_ ’ Godric told her, and she could tell that he actually was so. ‘ _You blinded the Ra’zac, released Saphira and myself, blew off the arm of one of them, and I grabbed you and flew off. I didn’t see anything else here on the ground, as the winged beast took after me.’_

Helena kept walking around the camp as Godric answered. Her eyes widened as she spotted deep gauges in the ground: they were similar to locations where Godric and Saphira would take off, yet different enough to be noticeable. It had to be from the winged beast.

“It’s not-“ Helena began but cut herself off. She couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault, because a part of her _did_ blame him. He had no control over the Ra’zac, but still... A subdued feeling was sent to her from Godric, not because of his actions, but because of her reaction to it. She sighed. “It doesn’t matter. We just need to find them.”

Godric hesitated. ‘ _I know you want to find them, but it would be unwise to do it from the air. The Ra’zac could still be in the area, and with our injuries, I’m not confident we could chase them off._ ’ It said a lot, that even at full strength, they would only consider chasing them off. And he was right; she could still feel a deep exhaustion in her bones.

“There has to be a way.” Helena looked around. Spotting the myriad of tracks on the ground, Helena wished Eragon was there. It was funny how he spoke of her being superior in almost everything, but he had a clear advantage in certain areas as well. Sword fighting, for example. And here now, she really longed for his skills in tracking, which he had honed for years while hunting in the Spine.

As Godric had pointed out, it would be utterly unwise to search for them from the air. And if she ignored the fact that the Ra’zac might still be around – and, yes, while they wouldn’t be able to hit them from the air, they could easily follow them to where Godric would land –, then there was still the problem of Eragon, Saphira, and Brom was sure to have taken shelter and hid somewhere. Sure, it narrowed the search area, as there weren’t that many places to hide out there, but still... There would be no searching for the air.

There were tracks on the ground, but she didn’t have the ability to read them as Eragon had. Yes, she could see tracks leading out of the camp in several directions, but she wasn’t able to tell which one had been left most recently – and she most certainly wasn’t able to tell how heavy a load a horse bore like Eragon would be able to. Even if she by some divine miracle followed the correct tracks from the camp, Eragon was anything but stupid and would try to either erase their tracks or leave misleading tracks (that might be why there were several tracks leading from the camp, now that she considered it). It was possible that he had done both. So there wouldn’t be any following the tracks they left behind.

Then, of course, there was her animagus form. As a dire wolf, her sense of smell was more than just keen and more than able to track down trails of scent. The thing was, first and foremost; it was inadvisable to transform while in her current state, exhausted and her magical core still recovering. And second; Brom had taught both she and Eragon to clean up their trail, both physical and more subtly – like erasing their scent trail for a while. So that wouldn’t work.

As far as magic was concerned... Spells that focused in on certain locations were rather limited. Just take the Point Me spell: it could point to North, following the Earth’s (and she guessed Alagaësia’s) magnetic field, and could point to locations already having been marked magically. Of course, Helena had marked both Teirm and Dras-Leona, but that didn’t help her much with finding Eragon. As far as having marked Eragon, Gaian magic didn’t work like that, on a personal level. It was like with the wards – Gaian marked worked large and broad, and needed something to anchor it, while Alagaësian magic could be more... pliable in a way. Yeah, it was almost contradictory to call Alagaësian magic pliable, with how rigid it was bound to the Ancient Language, but with how precisely one could describe a spell, it gave it that pliability. But it all boiled down to the same answer: she wouldn’t be able to locate Eragon, Saphira, and Brom with magic.

That only left her and Godric with wandering the wilderness aimlessly, looking for a needle in a haystack. That, again, put them at risk of the Ra’zac – and in risk of the patrols of soldiers that was sure to be patrolling around Dras-Leona after her stunt there.

Of course, this was all assuming that Eragon, Saphira, and Brom had actually escaped the Ra’zac and wasn’t rotting in the dungeon in Dras-Leona – or worse, was on their way to Urû'baen and Galbatorix. If that was the case, she didn’t think she would be able to help them at all. So, yes, she would assume that they had, in fact, escaped.

Helena let out a harsh sigh and sat down on the ground.

‘ _Dear One..._ ’

“Look, don’t talk right now,” Helena cut her partner off, not unfriendly. “This is just a lot to take in. Just... give me a second, My Heart.” Again contrition emanated from Godric’s end of their bond, but he did as she had requested. He lay down beside her, his head, brushing lightly against her thigh. It was to let her know that he was there for her, and she was grateful for it.

Ok, when one gets separated, what should one do? Well, the most obvious answer was ‘find those you’ve been separated from’, and Helena had already been over the hows and whys that wasn’t possible. What else? Perhaps stay put so that those you’ve been separated from can find you? That made sense... except that she was deep in Empire territory, with Ra’zac on the loose and soldiers patrolling the wilderness around her – and, you know, Eragon, Saphira, or Brom might be hurt, so much so that they weren’t able to look for her (which was one of the reasons she wanted to find them so fast in the first place, so she could help them). So both option one and two were out of the question. Then it had to be option three: meet up at a location agreed upon, in case separation occurs.

“We’re going to the Varden,” Helena finally said.

Godric sent her the equivalent of a mental frown. ‘ _How do you know they are going there?’_

“I don’t,” Helena admitted. “I know that Eragon was really intent on getting the Ra’zac, but there’s no way that’s happening now. Brom has been as transparent as he can be, that he wants to take Eragon, and me, to the Varden after the Ra’zac business was over with. In addition to that, I spoke to Eragon in Dras-Leona, and told him that it was very likely that I was going to the Varden after Dras-Leona, whether he was going or not.”

‘ _You did?’_ Godric asked in surprise.

"Yes, I did." Helena smiled softly. “I might not have listened to you as much as I should, but I have been listening. Eragon is sure to tell Brom that, and I’m sure it’s not just an Earth thing to meet up at a location agreed upon if you get separated from each other.”

‘ _Hmm, it makes sense, I guess,’_ Godric agreed after a moment. ‘ _Then there is just the question of **where** the Varden is. While the old man might’ve been transparent in his intent to lead you and the farmer’s boy there, he has been less so about their actual location.’_

“Yeah, I know,” Helena sighed. “That’s going to be a problem. Still, there is a limited amount of locations where a force the size of the Varden can hide in Alagaësia. They aren’t just soldiers in a camp; they have civilians as well – families. They need at least a primitive infrastructure to be able to get enough water and enough food to survive.”

‘ _The most obvious guess would be in Surda,’_ it came from the ruby dragon. ‘ _They have more than just a primitive infrastructure. Except..._ ’

“Except they know that they exist at the Black King’s mercy,” Helena finished. “While they would want to get rid of Galbatorix as much as anyone, they cannot risk supporting enemies of the Empire so openly. Don’t get me wrong, they’re sure to have ties and to support the Varden – they would be more than just slightly dim if they don’t – , but they would not have an army hiding among them.”

Godric hummed in agreement. ‘ _The Du Weldenvarden would also be an obvious guess. Again, someone has already a supportive infrastructure in place – the elves this time. They wouldn’t have the problem Surda has, with the looming threat of destruction at the hands of the Empire. Eh, well, they have that threat looming over them as much as anyone in Alagaësia, but they’re hidden for now. That said...  from how Brom talked about the elves; I do not see them being willing to house a **human** resistance group, even if it is against the Oathbreaker. They distrust humans too much for that. As with Surda, they are sure to have ties and support the Varden, but they wouldn’t hide them in the forest.’_

“The dwarves are sure to support them as well, so they could be hiding there. We just don’t have the faintest clue as to where they would be,” Helena mused. “Brom did let slip that the dwarves lived underground, but that doesn’t exactly narrow that search. While I would be tempted to say that they would only live where the underground is made of rock, as to be able to be easier to build in, the goblins of Earth can live anywhere underground, given enough time to secure the area.”

Godric didn’t respond immediately. ‘ _What should our course of action be, then?’_

Helena gnawed on her lower lip lightly as she considered the question. “As we’ve pointed out, while we don’t know where the Varden is, we are more than confident that all of Galbatorix’s enemies – Surda, the elves, and the dwarves – support them. It would make sense to try and track down supply lines to the Varden from any of them, and follow them to the Varden.”

‘ _So, Surda,_ ’ Godric concluded. ‘ _We’ve no idea where the dwarves are, and the elves have half a continent to hide on._ ’

“Surda,” Helena confirmed with a nod. She stood up and sighed. “I just hope that Brom makes it to the Varden before we do.”

‘ _Why?_ ’ her partner asked, perplexed. ‘ _And you’re not including Eragon and Saphira in that?’_

Helena chuckled. “I trust Eragon and Saphira with my life, but they do not have the confidence of the Varden. Brom does. I doubt we will receive a warm welcome at the gates of the Varden – you know, if they have gates. They know about Eragon and Saphira, and they had Saphira’s egg for several decades. But us? They have no clue about us. They’ll probably jump to the conclusion that one of Galbatorix’s remaining eggs has hatched, and that we’ve come there to fight them.”

‘ _Hmm, yeah, that would seem likely,_ ’ Godric agreed with her after having followed her trail of thoughts. ‘ _Some of them might also have been alive while the Forsworn were about. If that is the case, then they only know dragons as a threat. Mind you, even as allies, you shouldn’t treat us dragons lightly.’_

“What? You?” Helena teased, slightly sarcastically. “You are one big teddy bear of sunshine and unicorn puffs. You’ve only threatened Eragon on several occasions and jumped him once. They have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Godric snorted. ‘ _The things that I put up with._ ’ Warm affection spread through his chest and through their link, making Helena smile softly. She leaned in to give a hug.

“We’ll better get going,” Helena said after a few moments of them just enjoying each other’s presence. “This isn’t a safe area.”

‘ _Where to?’_ Godric asked as he leaned down to give Helena room to mount him. She was swiftly up his leg and made herself comfortable in the saddle. ‘ _I’m thinking that flying to Aberon would be unwise.’_

Now it was Helena’s turn to snort. “First and foremost, we should just fly south-east. As I recall, there is a freshwater lake making up a large part of the south-western corner of the Empire, and even a part of the border with Surda. It opens up to a river, making its way all the way down south through Surda and out into the ocean. We won’t have problems with needing water. I’m able to conjure some until we get there, but it really is better to drink naturally occurring water.” She wasn’t going to get into the whole ‘not enough minerals in conjured water’-spout. “After that... I’m thinking we’ll covertly search smaller cities to see if there are any signs of goods moving strangely. I don’t think we’ll need to approach larger cities.”

‘ _If Surda is looking to hide their support of the Varden, then it would make sense not to move goods underneath the spies of the Empire.’_

“Exactly,” Helena smiled. “For now, as I said, let’s just find that lake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it finally is: chapter twelve of Slowly, And Then All At Once. You know, as I was writing it, there was times where I didn’t like it very much, but now that I’ve read through it, I can only love it. I think we see a lot more of Helena’s and Godric’s relationship than we’ve had for a few chapters, and we even see it grow. There’s also the fact that we see another one of Helena’s “faults” – i.e. that she’s not a Mary-Sue. Given, not wanting to give up your own life needlessly isn’t exactly special, it isn’t in line with what I usually imagine heroes to be like. But I digress...  
> As is very obvious, I diverge from the books here rather sharply. Helena is making her own way to the Varden. As for Eragon, Saphira, to not say Brom... yeah, I’m evil: you won’t get to know whether Brom gets to live or die for another few chapters. And I apologize for the few that were looking forward to seeing Murtagh, as he obviously won’t be making an appearance either for a few chapters.  
> Hate me as you must for my stunt, I do believe that you’re all going to enjoy what’s coming. We’re going to get back to just Helena and Godric, and see Helena be more herself again (more or less, anyway). I’ve put a lot of work into just how they would find the Varden, and... yeah... I’m looking forward to sharing it with you all.  
> While I won’t apologize, it did take a bit longer than I had hoped for this chapter to get written. While a part of the reason is that I played Mass Effect: Andromeda, as I had warned, (it was awesome, by the way), another is I’ve been busy in life. Some of you might know that I was sick a while back, and it took me a while to get better. There have been bumps in the road (one of those bumps causing me to go AWOL), and it has also affected my schooling. Until now, I’ve been taking “single classes” of upper secondary education. But now, it’s official, from after summer and two years forward, I’m going to enrol full time again in a upper secondary school, which means I will finally be finished in the summer of 2019, and ready of university. It took some time to sort out, but I’m so excited about that.  
> Anyway, I went off on a tangent there. My point was that it took a bit longer for this chapter to get written. While I won’t make any promises, my hope is to get a chapter out every fortnight or so. Sadly, I’m not as awesome as Najex, to be able to have an 11k+ word chapter out each Friday, but I’ll do my best anyhow.  
> Synthesis


	13. Following the Breadcrumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena’s eyes, then, locked onto the docks, and she frowned.  
> ‘Is it just me, or does that dock seem unusually large for a town this size?’ Helena asked.  
> ‘... I’m a dragon.’  
> ‘Right...,’ it came from Helena bashfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Helena stood on a small cliff near the Surdan city. Well, cliff was perhaps saying a lot – it was more of a glorified hill, but she digressed. Standing as she did, looking over the city, it didn’t escape her that it was very reminiscent of the way she had stood observing Teirm from a mountain in the Spine, almost half a year earlier.

‘ _Come full circle, eh?’_ Godric voiced.

Helena’s lips twitched. “Yes, it feels like that, doesn’t it?” It might, to some, seem strange for her to seek confirmation from Godric, seeing as he hadn’t even hatched back then. But, really, ever since the ruby dragon had hatched, their minds had rarely separated. Their memories usually flowed smoothly between them through their link, even as they were being created. Helena had even spent a considerable amount of time telling her heart’s friend about her life, sharing memories with the ruby dragon from before he had hatched. Even if she hadn’t shared _everything_ (it wasn’t exactly as easy as it sounded, to share memories covering nearly eighteen years), she had gone over the memories of her travels in the Spine enough times for Godric to know every shade of emotion contained within them.

Half a year… She had nearly been in Alagaësia for six months. Helena sighed as her thoughts caught up with her. She had no exact date of when she had appeared naked in the Spine, but her best estimate was about three weeks prior to her arriving in Teirm. Then she had spent two months in the coastal city, and then three months travelling with Eragon, Saphira, and Brom… And it all added up. Honestly, six months wasn’t much in the grand scale of things, and even if it would be one, two, or even three years before (if she ever) made it home, Helena didn’t doubt that her friends would be there to welcome her back. But there was one person for who those few years would seem like a lot; in fact, it would seem like their whole life to them, because it basically would be.

Teddy.

Regret swirled in Helena’s stomach as she thought of her godson. Andromeda might be there to take care of him, but Remus and Tonks had chosen _Helena_ to be there for him if they ever couldn’t.  Hadn’t Helena cursed Sirius more than a few times, at how he had gone after Pettigrew instead of staying with her that night at Godric’s Hollow? And, yet, she had done something not entirely dissimilar. She had left him.

‘ _Helena..._ ’ Godric’s mind enveloped her own, caressing it as he did. She could feel the thoughts flying through his head, trying to come with something that would make her feel better. ‘You’ll see him again’ or ‘He is sure to understand’ just didn’t quite make it, as they both knew that there was no guarantee that it was true.

Helena sighed.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ the witch-turned-Dragon Rider told her partner. ‘ _Now isn’t the time.’_

Godric sent her the equivalent of a mental soft smile. ‘ _With all, we’ve been through, when has it ever been the time? In fact, compared to the last few months, this is probably more the time, than it ever has been. We’re alone, we’re not on a time schedule, and we have no-one counting on us.’_

Helena chuckled. ‘ _True enough. Still...’_

‘ _I know._ ’

Godric and Helena were located at the southern end of the great lake Helena had recalled from a map in Jeod’s study. It had taken them two days, and flying through a night, to make it to the northern end of the lake: they had left in a south-eastern direction in the morning light, and had only landed on the shores at sunset the day after. While Helena might’ve healed the worst of Godric’s injury caused by the Ra’zac’s winged beast, it was far from the only one – and thus they had flown at a comfortable speed. Spending the night on the shores of the lake, the two had turned towards south the next day – taking care to travel at the height of several miles, as the only source of surface water for a fifth of a continent was sure to attract people. After flying another three days, they had made it to where they were now, on the outskirts of a Surdan city.

As the Ruby Rider observed the town, she couldn’t help to notice the sharp contrast it held to any of the cities or towns she had been to in the Empire – even to Teirm. There was an... easiness in the air there. A spark of liberty, if she was poetic about it, which only showed itself in underground movements and whispered conversations in the Empire. It was refreshing, and yet still jarring after having been submerged in the oppression for so long. While she might’ve only felt it – honestly felt it (her issues during her travels with Eragon and Brom, while incredibly disheartening to her, didn’t count) – a few times on herself, it had been there, all around and suffocating. Standing in Surda was like coming up for fresh air – and Helena now understood why some families risked everything to flee to here.

The town itself, unlike the atmosphere, didn’t look much different than the towns and villages Helena had been through on her journey to Dras-Leona. Well, it was larger (Helena didn’t think she had been in a city in the Empire which could equate to it), and the buildings seemed to be built with a more sandy material in comparison to the ochre soil further north, but that was it.

Helena’s eyes, then, locked onto the docks, and she frowned.

‘ _Is it just me, or does that dock seem unusually large for a town this size?’_ Helena asked.

‘ _... I’m a dragon.’_

‘ _Right...,’_ it came from Helena bashfully. ‘ _I still think it’s too large.’_

‘ _Trade, perhaps?’_ Godric suggested.

Helena hummed. ‘ _Maybe, but from where?’_

Trying to recall the map she had looked over in Teirm, the details had long since faded from Helena’s memory. She couldn’t remember where the different towns were located (apart from an estimate of the largest cities, such as Ûru’baen, Aberon, Gil’ead, and such), but she _did_ remember that the further east one got, the fewer settlements there were. Even if one considered trade from further north than the settlements around the lake, that trade was far more likely to go about Dras-Leona, and then follow the river running south from Leona Lake.  So why then...

‘ _The Varden!_ ’ Helena suddenly exclaimed. ‘ _The border between Surda and the Empire is heavily patrolled according to Brom, but it’s much tougher to guard here at the lake. Even if the Empire has soldiers patrolling around the lakes, there must be many hidden nooks and crannies – I mean, just take a look at where you are hiding now. Here is the perfect place to smuggle supplies over the border.’_

‘ _Yes, I see,_ ’ Godric hummed. ‘ _While the supplies undoubtedly are also arriving in Surda by sea, circumventing the Empire altogether, it takes a while to get the supplies to a coastal city. Even then, there would be a significant risk that they could be discovered – not to mention pirates.’_

‘ _Pirates... Do you think it’s possible that Jeod was helping the Varden?’_ Helena asked. ‘ _It would actually make sense, wouldn’t it? How Jeod knew so much about dragons and such. And Jeod knows Brom, who we **know** is involved in the Varden somehow.’_

‘ _If that is true, then it isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility, that these pirates are funded by the Empire,’_ Godric mused. ‘ _As far as I recall, the pirates seemed to go after Jeod and a select few other merchants.’_

Helena mulled it over in her head. ‘ _If pirates are, in fact, being funded by the Empire, to prevent supplies from reaching the Varden by sea, then our chances just got that much better. With the supply line at sea at risk, the Varden must take other supply-lines in use more – that means this one.’_

‘ _I’m guessing the docks would be the best location to begin trying to locate a trail?_ ’ Godric asked rhetorically. Helena sent the equivalent of a mental nod. ‘ _You can’t play the role of a merchant’s daughter anymore. Without your money, and clothes as bloodied and dirty as the ones you’re wearing, I can’t imagine they would believe you.’_

Helena grimaced: Godric was correct. As much as she disliked the prospect of playing that character again, she would be willing to do it for a few hours to get some information. But, for the reasons Godric pointed out, that wasn’t possible.

‘ _A few charms and no-one should ever know I was there,’_ Helena answered.

‘ _Dear One,’_ it came from Godric in concern.

‘ _I’ll be fine, My Heart. But thank you for the concern.’_

Godric’s worry wasn’t unfounded. While Helena had healed the worst of her own and Godric’s injuries after she had awoken, she hadn’t used any other spells. She hadn’t even cast a heating charm while flying, despite her fingers being so cold, that pins and needles had danced across them. That had been the right thing to do: exhausting her magical core as she had done, was by no means a small thing.

Spending up one's magical core? Small thing. Exhausting one’s magical core? Not so much.

If one’s magical core was like a glass of water, then spending it was like drinking the water. Exhausting it, however, was like smashing the glass to get to the water. Now, a magical core _wasn’t_ like a glass, so it could still contain magical energy, but hers had been battered by the event. Helena needed to give it time to heal, optimally another week, if not two.

Still, if she and Godric should have any hope of finding the Varden in a timely manner, they couldn’t wait until she was fully recovered – and that wasn’t even worrying about her not having food anymore (thank Merlin for the few fish she had managed to catch in the lake). It wasn’t as if she would be in danger of spontaneous combustion, but it would be best if she stayed clear of casting any complicated spells.

Casting the spells – a simple Disillusionment Charm and the Alagaësian spell Brom had taught her and Eragon to erase their footprints –, Helena began walking down towards the city.

 

~ BWaC ~

The supplies were travelling east.

By ‘east’, Helena meant that that was the _general_ direction the supplies were moving. From Petrøvya – that was the name of the Surdan city by the shores of the Tüdosten lake – they were indeed sent east with a caravan for a few days, to a small village by the name of Kilerth. From Kilerth the supplies had been sent south to Mirstone, and from Mirstone they had then been sent south-west, and Helena had been worried they were being sent to Aberon. Fortunately, the supplies arrived in the city of Ilragorn, a hundred miles or so outside of Aberon, and _then_ they were sent towards east.

Saying that the supplies were ‘travelling east’ was just so much easier, so Helena would go with that.

It didn’t take a genius to guess, then, that the Varden were probably hidden in the Beor Mountains somewhere. Finding them, however, was easier said than done: the mountains absolutely _dominated_ the southern end of the continent.

Helena was split between being elated that they had actually found a trail, and cursing (and admiring, if she was honest) whoever had set up the trail, because it was damned near impossible to follow. Neither Helena nor Godric had expected to be able to fly from Petrøvya directly to another critical point in the supply line, and from there go straight to the Varden. But travelling criss-cross across Surda… It was tiring.

Ignoring the fact that it was physically exhausting to follow the trail, there was also the fact, that without her bag, Helena didn’t have her store of supplies. While Godric was able to hunt for them, Helena, unlike him, couldn’t survive on meat alone. Sure, for a few days, perhaps weeks even, she wouldn’t have any problems. But without any certainty of _when_ they would arrive at the Varden, Helena wouldn’t risk it, and she had to stoop to something she had never thought she would do.

She stole.

Just _thinking_ about it made her uncomfortable. Now, she had never claimed to be a goody-two-shoes, and Helena had probably broken more rules and laws than she could count (she broke into freakin’ _Gringotts!_ ), but stealing was something else. And stealing from these people, these _hardworking_ people, who didn’t have the luxury of falling back on modern society if things should go to hell... that was something else entirely again.

Helena tried, then, to make sure only to steal from people who she believed could afford it – and, of course, she only stole was she _absolutely_ needed.

The first items she nicked was a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a piece of rope. The dress she had been wearing, apart from being utterly unpractical, was falling apart at the seams, so it really was necessary. She had taken the pieces of clothing off a clothesline while leaving Petrøvya, making sure to nick them from a clothesline that had plenty of varied clothes. The trousers were brown and worn, and the shirt probably used to be white but had accumulated a slightly faded greyish yellow colour, a clear sign it had been worn for a considerable amount of time in the dust that flew around the air in the area. They weren’t fancy and had seen better days – which was the reasons she had chosen them out of all the clothes. The rope she had swiped from a farm the next town over, after being driven crazy by the large shirt – after tying the rope around her waist, it was much more manageable.

Another item she _needed_ to appropriate was a map. While no-one would go freezing or hungry if she took it, maps were of immense value in Alagaësia, and would inevitably cause distress. So when Helena finally found a good map in Mirstone, she had risked using magic, and used the Gemino Curse, leaving the original where she had found it.

And, of course, she stole bread and buns when she came across them. They tasted like dirt to her, and she was sure that it wasn’t because the Surdans didn’t know how to bake.

Ten days after leaving Petrøvya, Helena estimated that her magical core was recovered enough for her to start practising magic as she usually did. One of the first things she experimented with was apparating. Godric had not been pleased.

‘ _Do you **not** , in fact, remember what happened last time!?’_ Godric all but roared, his heart aching with worry. It had really shaken him up the way she had appeared in front of him, unconscious, and Helena couldn’t blame him. Helena didn’t bother to point out that, no, she didn’t actually remember it, and the only reason she had images to put to that period of time was because of him (honestly, the last day in Dras-Leona was still a bit of a blur to her).

However displeased Godric was, Helena needed to figure out how come she was able to apparate out of Dras-Leona when she hadn’t been able to apparate home.

“I’ll be careful,” Helena told him. Godric huffed, knowing all too well that when she was determined to do something, she rarely could be convinced to do otherwise. The ruby dragon had to choose his battles, when to try and argue, and apparently, he had decided that this wasn’t one of those times.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider started off easy. She and Godric were camped by a small pond, so ‘starting easy’ here would be the other side of the fifteen-meter wide body of water.

Helena closed her eyes and turned her mind towards The Three D’s: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. Her destination was the other side of the pond, and she began imagining it as lifelike as she could. She was determined to reach that destination because she would be damned if she was able to apparate in a life-or-death situation, but not when she actually meant to. And she was deliberate in her decision; she _intended_ to do this (the last D was the easiest of the three, as it was the key to successfully casting any spell).

Letting the power flow from her core, she felt the tell-tale sign of apparating. Everything went black, and an enormous pressure began enveloping her, as she felt like she was pressed into a tight rubber tube. A second later colour returned to the world and she could breathe again. Godric stirred worriedly in her mind, but let her get her bearings. Helena blinked at took in her surroundings – she was on the other side of the pond. Patting herself up and down her body, making sure she hadn’t left any parts behind, she soon realised she had successfully apparated.

“Yes!” Helena cheered with a jump into the air. Looking back to Godric, who was now on the opposite of the pond compared to her, the Ruby Rider didn’t hesitate and apparated back beside him with a pop.

‘ _Don’t push yourself... **please** ,’_ Godric begged her. He looked her up and down, his snout going over her to try and detect any traces of blood.

“I’m fine,” Helena told him with a goodhearted roll of her eyes. In fact, she was better than fine. One wouldn’t expect it, with how the actual sensation of apparating felt like, but Helena felt _amazing_ after apparating. Looking at her hand, she was almost shaking with excitement, and it was easy to tell why: she had reclaimed yet another part of herself.

Further experimentation proved that she still wasn’t able to apparate home, hitting the same wall, for lack of a better term, that she had hit in the Spine. Embarrassment hit her when she realised she had jumped the metaphorical gun when she had ‘determined’, back then, that she couldn’t apparate in Alagaësia. She could; she just couldn’t apparate home. But to be fair, hitting that wall, it hurt like hell, and as she had already been rather injured back then, it had been more than just slightly traumatising.

Apparating wasn’t the same thing in Alagaësia as it was on Earth, Helena determined (and this time she tried to make sure not to jump the gun). The energy requirements were different; on Earth, it was distance which determined how much energy it took to apparate (which was why most wizards and witches didn’t apparate inter-continentally), but on Alagaësia it was the amount of matter instead determined that. Conversely, the determination part of apparation had also changed, as it was much easier in Alagaësia – but the larger the objects she tried to side-along apparate with her, the harder it became. It made a mathematical kind of sense to her: while the different ratios of apparation that was important had switched up, namely the energy requirements and the determination put behind it, the sum total had stayed the same.

Godric supplied with what Brom had told Eragon about teleportation, and it added up to her findings. It also suddenly made much more sense why she had exhausted her magical core apparating them out of Dras-Leona as she had.

Her bond with Godric also affected her ability to apparate. It wasn’t really a surprise, as how she used magic had been flipped tits over arse since she bonded with him, but this time it didn’t have anything to do with that. As she had gone over, apparation required a certain amount of determination and will to transport oneself to the new location. Since bonding with her ruby partner, she instinctually sought out his presence – honestly, one only had to look how their minds were intertwined at all hours of the day to figure that out. That meant that apparating _to_ him was the easiest thing, while an instinctual level of her consciousness recoiled from trying to leave Godric. That also put a limit on how far away she could, safely, apparate away from her partner. So far it seemed to be a few miles. Godric seemed rather pleased with that.

With her self-imposed abstinence from using magic having come to an end, it also only made sense that she would check up on Eragon, Brom, and Saphira by magical means. On Earth that would be bloody damned near impossible unless one was talented within the subject of divination (as woolly a subject as it was, if one tried to determine something happening in _the present_ , the odds of one being correct increased exponentially), but on Alagaësia it was a much easier thing.

Helena closed her eyes and let her mind go blank. Recalling Brom’s instructions weeks earlier, she began constructing an image of Eragon in her mind. The first thing that came to mind was that smile of his, the one which never failed to warm her stomach.  It was surrounded by slightly thin lips and framed by round, boyish cheeks. Stubble had begun growing on his chin, something he was quick to point out when she teased him and called him a boy. His nose was a tiny bit crooked, as it hadn’t been set correctly when he had broken it as a child – it wasn’t something one would notice unless one spent some time up close and personal with him. And he had the warmest brown eyes, an independent fire burning in them like a furnace. His shaggy brown hair never grew to more than two or three inches before Eragon cut it short again, lest it grew uncontrollable. Helena focused on _all_ those features, all that made Eragon Eragon, letting them fill her mind.

“Draumr kópa,” Helena incanted clearly and opened her eyes, putting the power of her core behind the words.

The surface of the water in the puddle went stark white. For a moment nothing happened, but then shadows and shapes moved across the blank canvas, before finally taking the forms of Eragon and Saphira. The blue dragon was lying slumbering while Eragon was sat up against her, not unlike how Helena sat with Godric frequently.

“They’re alive,” Helena breathed out in relief. Laughter bubbled under the surface of her mind. Godric shifted slightly to get a view of the scene playing out on the surface of the puddle, and when he spotted their two comrades, his relief mirrored her own. Helena smiled softly at him.

‘ _Where is the old one?’_ Godric asked after a moment.

Helena’s smile fell from her face, and she frowned. The surface of the puddle did indeed only show Eragon and Saphira – and nothing else. Not the ground, not the campfire she couldn’t imagine being far from Eragon, not Brom. The former two wasn’t so strange, as scrying only showed the caster of the spell people and locations the caster had seen before. Helena had, however, seen Brom.

“He could be out scouting or hunting,” Helena answered her partner. She cut the magic to the spell, and the surface of the puddle went back to reflecting the sky. The Ruby Rider blinked, surprised at the energy it had taken for the scrying to succeed. Not that it took anywhere near a substantial amount out of her magical core, but it was definitely more than she had been expecting. Chasing those thoughts away, Helena recreated a mental image of Brom in her head (which, Helena would admit, took noticeably more time than it had taken to construct a picture of Eragon), and repeated the incantation. “Draumr kópa.”

As before, the surface of the water in the puddle went stark white at first. However, this time no shadows flew across the white, and the longer she kept the spell active, the more energy it took. She again let go of the spell, letting the surface of the puddle return to normal. Apprehension and dread settled in her stomach.

‘ _Perhaps he has warded himself against being scried,’_ Godric tried to reason, however weakly. The ruby dragon had never been particularly fond of Brom, never quite having forgiven how he had ambushed Helena in Teirm, but Godric had respected the old storyteller’s skill and knowledge. It was as Godric had stated several times: he did not wish him dead. ‘ _It was the Old Man who killed Morzan, so he is surely one of the most wanted enemies of Galbatorix. It would only make sense.’_

“Perhaps…” Helena answered doubtfully.

Helena wasn’t able to sleep much that night. It was a warm night, with winds blowing in from the south. Helena laid up against Godric, the feeling of his breathing and the level ‘ _da-dunk, da-dunk, da-dunk’_ of his heart having a calming effect on her. Usually that alone was enough to lull her to sleep, but not that night. Worry gnawed on her insides.

After several hours of tossing and turning, Helena sighed heavily. Rising from her position, Godric roused slightly, an eyelid rising slightly to look at her. Catching her thoughts, Godric simply made himself comfortable again and went back to sleep.

The Ruby Rider walked a few steps away from her partner, and then got on her knees and scooped up a few handfuls of sandy earth. Now sitting in front of a small hollow in the ground, Helena raised her left hand over it.

“Glacius.”

Cold air shot forth from her hand and into the earth. Frost began building up, and Helena cut the magic off when the hollow was coated with a light layer of ice.

“Aquamenti,” Helena then incanted, and out of seemingly nowhere, water filled the iced hollow. Lowering her hand once again, Helena closed her eyes as she had done earlier. It only took her a moment, and then, "Draumr kópa.”

As Eragon’s figure was shown on the surface of the water, Helena’s stomach settled, if only a bit. He was awake. This time he was alone, and he had his neck craned and looking up into the sky. Without even thinking about it Helena mirrored him and was met with the sight of thousands of winking stars and the band of the Milky Way greeting her. And, somehow, knowing that Eragon was watching the same sky as her, even as he was Merlin knows how far away, it unravelled the last of the knots in her stomach.

Helena sighed.

Why was it that people often took for granted the very things that deserved their gratitude the most? One would think, with Helena losing as many friends as she had in the war, that she would’ve learned that lesson. She let out a humourless laugh and then took a heavy breath.

Helena had intended to leave Eragon and Brom if they hadn’t been planning to go to the Varden. She didn’t deny this fact, but she didn’t deny this... longing for their presence either. It could be the way that she had left with Godric, but she doubted that she would feel much different, even if she had left on more amicable terms. She would still worry about them, and she would still miss them.

Yes, that included that old storyteller. Merlin, she and Brom had had more kerfuffles than she could recall, but she actually respected that man. He drove her insane, and half the time she wanted to bash his teeth in, but she respected him.

Of course, he couldn’t hold a candle to Eragon. The two of them had been in the same boat, had been chosen by dragons to become their Riders, had been thrown into a war neither of them truly wanted to fight. Eragon might not have chosen yet that he was going to fight, but Helena believed he would. He was too... _good_ not to. He couldn’t stand by doing nothing when he saw people suffering. Even with how infuriating irresponsible and rash he was at times, even how he made her want to pull her hair out at his reactions to her being different, he had made her feel less alone.

And he was in love with her.

Helena looked down at his figure in the water. Did she love him? ...perhaps. Was she _in_ love with him? She didn’t believe so, but neither would she deny that she held an attraction to him, that could, with time, develop into such affections. She still didn’t know whether or not she wanted to allow that attraction to evolve into genuine love, but it was there.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider blew a fringe out of her face. By Godric’s Courage, she was in the middle of Surda, trying to track down a resistance group fighting against an evil Dragon Rider emperor. And here she was, kept up at night, because of _boy troubles_. ...all right, it wasn’t only boy troubles, but worries about a dear friend’s safety, but a significant amount of the reason was, in fact, _boy troubles_. She grimaced.

She was new to this. Really, she was. With Fred, he had been rather straightforward with his feelings for her. They never did go very far, but the beginning wasn’t messy and hurtful and full of doubt and jealousy of every girl he would show attention to other than her. The redheaded twin had walked up to her in the Common Room one day, and told her that he fancied her a mighty bit – and then he had bolted from the room as both his face and her own face had turned to the colour of a ripe tomato. They had taken it easy and one step at a time from there.

But hadn’t Eragon also been straightforward? Perhaps he hadn’t outright _told_ her that he fancied her, but all the clues were there. The stolen glances, the hanging on to her every word, his, admittedly, adorable blushes. And he hadn’t denied it either, when she finally, after months of travelling together, had addressed the erumpent in the room in Dras-Leona (that part she did remember). So what did that say about what was going on – or wasn’t going on – between them?

Romantic affection for Eragon aside, she missed her close friend. No-one could ever take Godric’s place as the person who understood her the most, and, admittedly, Eragon didn’t come close with how much she hadn’t told him about herself. With that said, the Blue Rider had gotten her on another level of her being and had just been there when she needed another person to rant to.

... and now she really was ranting, wasn’t she?

Helena sighed again, and let the spell go. Leaving the puddle of water, she went back to Godric and snuggled up against him, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep before they continued following the trail to the Varden.

 

~ BWaC ~

They were getting close. Unless, of course, the supplies would do a one-eighty, and move in westerly direction again, but Helena doubted it would. Helena was walking through a medium-sized village by the name of Greenock, located close to the feet of the Beor Mountains. And, by Salazar’s Wicked Tongue, those were _mountains_.

Helena had, ever since she had enrolled at Hogwarts, been surrounded by a mountainous area for five-sixths of the year. Even after she had been transported here to Alagaësia, she had spent months in Teirm, which was built in the shade the Spine cast. In other words: Helena was, by no means, not used to mountains.

But the _Beor Mountains!_

The Beor Mountains seemed to go on forever, reaching high into the skies. On cloudy days the peaks faded out into them, leaving what most of all looked like a giant wall of ice of snow, only broken up by a brand of green near the roots. Being so close to them instilled a feeling of... well, of reverence and awe. Nature was just incredible sometimes, Helena couldn’t help but feel.

As incredible as the mountains were, they were not the reason she was in Greenock. Well, they probably were, seeing as the longer she followed the trail to the Varden, the surer she became in her assessment that they were hidden somewhere in the mountains, but she digressed. Before she worried about the mountains, she had to worry about locating _at least_ the general area to look for the Varden.

Sneaking about villages in Surda, Helena felt like she got an insight into what it was like to be a wallflower. She had never gotten the choice of whether or not she wanted to be in the limelight – she just was, by virtue of her mother’s sacrifice. So it was a rare and pleasant thing to walk down streets, and not have people look at you. Even in Teirm people had looked at her, but _that_ was her fault, and there she _had_ had a choice.

There were so many hidden and beautiful moments. One could call Helena a romantic (though, if people did, they had to be prepared to be laughed in the face), but Helena’s favourite hidden moments in the villages were those between lovers. Helena didn’t have any definite proof that they were lovers (except for that one couple in the alleyway, where Helena had slowly backed out again, careful not to make any noises), but there were these heated glanced, hands that brushed, hair that was brushed behind the ear. Helena really liked being present for those moments.

Overall, there was something really rewarding about observing the daily lives of ordinary people in the villages. Helena had long since accepted that she would never have an ordinary life (even before she arrived in Alagaësia, and Godric had hatched to her), but that didn’t mean that she didn’t dream about it sometimes. These days, where she would wander invisible and silent, a ghost in any sense of the word, through the cities, it was the closest she had come to ordinary life in years.

“Hello, Marian!” one of the stall merchant’s exclaimed as a plump woman walked by. Helena jumped slightly at the outburst. “Good day to you! How are you?”

“Burton,” the plump woman, known as Marian, greeted back with a smile. She had a grandmotherly air about her. “Good day to you as well.  I’m well, but little Charlie is coming down with something, I’m afraid.”

Burton’s eyes widened slightly. Helena understood: on Earth, most of the time ‘coming down’ with something was merely an annoyance. In Alagaësia it was followed by the fear that people _wouldn’t_ get better.

“Nothing too serious, I hope?” Burton inquired.

Marian’s face looked strained. “Merely a fever for now. I’m on my way past Isobella’s to see if she has any herbs that might help.”

“Oh dear,” it came quietly from Burton. “I won’t keep you then. Please pass on my well wishes to the boy.” His eyes crinkled and he smiled. “And tell him, that when he gets better, I have a few errands he can run for me.”

Marian chuckled despite herself. “Thank you. If that won’t get him determined to get better, nothing will. He always loves helping you.”

“Well,” Burton cleared his throat, as a slight blush spread across his cheeks. “The feeling is mutual. He is an amazing boy.”

Marian’s expression softened and got tinged with fear. “He really is.” She sighed heavily. “I’ll get going now. Good day to you.”

“And good day to you.”

Helena watched as the plump woman strode with long steps down the road. A worried frown marred the Ruby Rider’s features, and for the umpteenth time, she cursed that she had lost her bag (and for the umpteenth time, she hoped dearly that Eragon had it). More apparent injuries like broken bones, flayed flesh, and infected wounds she could handle with magic. Something as vague as ‘ fever’ she needed a potion.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider cursed under her breath – causing Burton to glance startled in her direction – and turned about to walk away in the opposite direction from Marian.

‘ _Dear One, you can’t save the whole world.... **s** ,’_ Godric told her.

‘ _I know that,_ ’ Helena responded harshly, and then winced. ‘ _I apologise, but these are things that I **would** be able to help with if I had my bag. Of course, I also get frustrated when things are out of my hands, but again...’_

‘ _These are things that ordinarily isn’t out of- Is that the werecat?’_

Helena had already spotted him when Godric had asked. She stood frozen in the middle of the street (which wasn’t the brightest thing to do when you were invisible, and with horse-drawn carriages capable of bone-breaking speeds), her eyes glued to the shaggy mess of fur that peeked out from one of the alleyways. Red eyes glanced around before the ball of fur shot across the street, right in front of Helena, and into another alleyway.

‘ _That **is** Solembum!’_ Helena confirmed in surprise. ‘ _But he usually follows Angela... You don’t think?’_

‘ _Go. Follow him,’_ Godric told her. ‘ _I’ll watch from the air.’_

Helena nodded, knowing Godric would catch it through their bond, and then ran over to the opening of the alleyway Solembum had just run down, barely catching his black form turning left around the corner at the other end. Helena took off after him.

A part of her commented drily that it wasn’t exactly the smartest idea to follow the black cat that had just crossed your path. Her mouth twitched at that, but it wasn’t exactly the first time she had followed a bad omen. Last time she had followed the Grim and had gained a Godfather, so that hadn’t discouraged from such actions. What was that word of phrase? ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back’?

‘ _How about you concentrate more about following the quick werecat, and less about the irony of running after a bad omen?’_

‘ _What was it we agreed upon when it came to sarcasm?’_

‘ _... That it really doesn’t suit me, and I should leave it to you.’_

Helena chuckled but followed Godric’s snarky advice regardless. That turned out to be a good thing because apparently, werecats were exquisite runners. Irrespective of the head start Solembum had received due to Helena’s shock, it was all she could do to keep up with him.

Solembum made a beeline through the city, weaving in and out between buildings, and causing quite an uproar the one time he was spotted (at least Helena knew why he had seemed wary about walking across the main street). Did that mean that he then slowed down when he had exited the city proper, and didn’t have to worry about causing a ruckus? Nope – once the werecat had exited the city, he had turned towards north-east, and then truly began to run.

Helena thanked Merlin for the training Brom had put her through, because despite her lungs burning like the rear-end of a blast-ended skrewt, she managed to keep up (or at least not fall behind). That was until Solembum jumped through a particularly thick patch of chaparral.

“Merlin’s Sweaty Bollocks,” Helena wheezed out, putting her hands on her knees. ‘ _Godric?_ ’

‘ _The thicket is too thick for me to see through,’_ Godric answered her unvoiced question.

“Fucking, bloody, twit-knitted...” Helena wheezed out again. She sat down to let her lungs and spleen catch up with her.

‘ _Wait!’_ Godric suddenly exclaimed. ‘ _I can see him. He is running east now.’_

Helena got on her feet again got out of the thicket. Turning towards the east, she followed Godric’s directions from the air.

‘ _Is that...?’_ Godric’s voice sounded in her head. Although she had a good idea of who the ruby dragon might’ve seen, Helena didn’t really believe it. What should Angela be doing all the way out here?

And, yet, as she got over a hill, there, in all her bushy Hermione-ness, stood the herbalist of Teirm by a small campfire, chatting with the werecat Helena felt she had chased across Surda.

“Angela?” Helena asked out loud as she dropped her spells.

Angela tensed up, and leaving Helena barely any time to react, the herbalist whipped up a sword and spun around. Helena made to draw her sword, but Angela was too quick. Acting on instinct, a Protego Charm appeared around the Ruby Rider.

“Helena!?” Angela exclaimed, only now seeing who it was she was attacking. Helena cursed herself for her stupidity – of course, Angela would react as she had, and Helena would have reacted just the same.

Angela’s eyes widened and flicked from the shimmering, translucent shield around Helena, to her glowing gedwëy insignia on her left palm, to the Sword of Gryffindor Helena had drawn halfway. Helena winced again, but then Angela asked a question Helena had not been expected.

“Are you from Gaia?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re soon with the Varden. I can’t imagine it will be more than a chapter or two more before we’re there, and boy am I looking forward to that. I’ve loved this whole cloak and dagger thing Helena has had going on since she arrived in Alagaësia, but I’m really looking forward to her to dazzle everyone with her person. She’s sure to ruffle some feathers.  
> The part about Helena not being able to apparate far away from Godric is, as a few things have been now, inspired by Najex’s story. I talked to him and asked if it was alright with him if I did the same in this story, because I simply fell in love with it. Thankfully, he gave me permission  
> I also hope that the part about Helena starting to consider whether or not she should be considering Eragon in a romantic light don’t feel forced. I know when the moment will be that the two hit it off, but I also need a start, where Helena starts seeing Eragon differently than just her brother-in-arm Dragon Rider, who is younger and rash. I would love any and all feedback about that.  
> Finally; I got two reviews a few days back from two guests that I want to talk about. The first review, while said in a tone I can’t say I enjoyed very much, was about me not exactly diverging from canon, even though I said I was. It pointed out, that since Helena is separating from Eragon and company, the path they’re taking will be extremely similar, if not entirely similar, to canon. And… I can agree with that. When I said I was diverging from canon, I was more talking about that I wouldn’t be taking the same path that the books took, instead carving a path for Helena independently. Her story is diverging from canon, but the reviewer is correct, that since Helena isn’t there to mock things up, what happens to Eragon will be much the same as in canon.  
> I would like to point out that I have never said that this story would be going off on a tangent, and become an entirely different story than the canon story. In fact, if I recall correctly, I stated quite clearly that the core of the story would stay the same, but that the details would change; this is still the story about the fight against Galbatorix. That said, there will be a lot of things added on, that will keep it interesting. I’ve said this before: Galbatorix is Eragon’s story – Helena has another reason for being in Alagaësia.  
> As for the second review, I honestly ended laughing a bit about it. I wasn’t laughing at the reviewer, but just the ridiculousness of the situation. The reviewer told me, quite bluntly, to ‘Move the story damn it’. He or she felt like I ‘take too much time, space, and words on a single scene!’. The thing is, that is exactly my writing style. I do take a lot of time getting from one point to another, and I do take a lot of time describing things and feelings. And, fair enough, I am aware that not everyone is into that style. If people are into the minimalistic writing style, I suggest they go read the works of Ernest Hemingway – that just isn’t me. I am all for constructive criticism, but I honestly wouldn’t call this review that. I am very much aware than I can approve a lot, and the one place in the story where I can agree that thing got a bit heavy with the exposition was Eragon’s thoughts about Helena after Dras-Leona, but if some readers are hoping that I will suddenly begin writing scenes much more short and to the point, I’m not sad that I will leave them disappointed.  
> Sorry if I got ranting a bit there. Just one more quick note: isn’t it funny, that when criticism isn’t constructive but merely there to say ‘this is bad, this is bad, and this is bad’, it’s usually a guest review that the author can’t respond to?  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> Ancient Language Translations:  
> Draumr kópa – Dream Stare


	14. Angela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wished to know whether Eragon was his name or who he was.”  
> Helena palmed her face in her hand. “So let me get this straight: Eragon not only confirmed your suspicion that he was a Rider, he actually told you his real name?”  
> Angela paused and then nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right.”  
> “You’ve got to be taking the piss one me,” Helena muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

“My word,” it came from Angela. “Doesn’t he look majestic...”

Helena looked over at the short witch – and didn’t that feel weird to call someone a witch, when they, by Helena’s standard, weren’t –, and a small smile formed on her lips.

Dragons were majestic. There was just no refuting that: for Helena, it was a fact. Dragons were some of the most magnificent beings – because anyone who knew just the least about dragons and insisted on calling them creatures, deserved a right knee in the bollocks – to ever have graced either Earth or Alagaësia. This was also the reason a touch of irritation emerged in Helena when Angela turned to her.

“May I speak to him?”

Yeah, Helena knew that it was a custom here, and a tradition amongst the Riders of Old. Helena, however, felt that it was an insult to both partners of the Rider Bond. They were equals: dragons were more than mentally capable of speaking for themselves, and riders weren’t servants who could turn people away the dragons couldn’t be bothered to talk to.

That was going to change, she had decided. She and Eragon had an opportunity here, as horrible as it had come about. They were the last free Dragon Riders, and there was no-one to dictate how Dragon Riders should act. Well, perhaps the elves, but Helena would have no problem with telling them where they could stick their opinions if they got too high and mighty. Don’t get her wrong: she wasn’t as arrogant that she would not listen to people when they sought to give her advice, nor did she wish to abolish everything the Old Order stood for. Traditions were important; she felt that strongly as the proud head of a Noble and Most Ancient House. But traditions should not be chains to constrain an individual and their opportunity; they should instead be a force that lifts and helps the person to achieve what they set out to do.

Ugh, Godric was right, she did become corny and wordy at times.

Back to the present, however: people asking permission to talk to partnered dragons was just one thing Helena didn’t like about the Old Order. Another was the restriction of knowledge. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider still couldn’t fathom that an order that had claimed to represent equality and freedom and brotherhood had been a part of something like that. Helena would never be able to lead, or even be a member, of an act who imposed something like that. Knowledge was one of the greatest equalisers of the world(s). Then again, then perhaps that’s why the elves had used their influence in the Order to impose such a thing.

But once again she was getting side-tracked.

Helena raised an eyebrow at Angela and told her the same she had told Brom outside of Teirm. “He is his own person and can decide for himself.”

Angela chuckled, mirth dancing in her eyes. “My, my, you’re already changing things up, aren’t you? I knew I liked your spunk for a reason.”

Helena simply displayed a smirk in response and watched as Angela walked over to Godric. The Ruby Rider couldn’t help but think that the witch had some serious lady balls to walk over to a dragon so nonchalantly. Angela liked Helena’s ‘spunk’, and the feeling was most certainly returned.

Godric and Angela stood across from each other and looked the other unflinchingly in the eyes. The ruby dragon’s tail swished lazily back and forward like a feline, and Helena got great amusement when she saw that Solembum – whether purposefully or not – mirrored him. Through her bond with Godric, Helena could feel a conversation taking place between Godric and Angela, but she let them have their privacy. Mind you, she felt the waves of emotions still coming from Godric, and if she felt anything out of the ordinary, she wouldn’t hesitate to break that privacy. The thing was, as powerful as the bond between Godric and Helena was, and as close as it made them, they were still individuals.

After the fourth minute, Helena got tired of standing, and walked over and sat on a stump by the small campfire Angela had going. An eyebrow was raised a moment later when Solembum jumped into her lap and curled up. Helena had spent enough time around Crookshanks to know that was a demand to be lazily scratched. Her lips twitched; the werecat might’ve vehemently corrected her in Teirm when she had assumed he was a cat, but he apparently did share some other characteristics than the aesthetics with the other feline species.

“I doubted if I would ever see another free dragon,” Angela’s voice sounded, and Helena looked up from Solembum.

Helena’s left eyebrow rose. While others might’ve been more surprised at Angela hinting at just long she had lived, it was merely curious to Helena. True, while the witch-turned-Dragon Rider didn’t know a way to keep looking youthful like Angela did, nor had she ever met an actual immortal before, long lifespans were not news to Helena. The average witch and wizard lived to be well over a hundred, and with the strength of their magical core, so did their lifespan increase as well. Hell, Helena had even met Nicolas Flamel a few months before he died, at the whopping age of six-hundred-and-fifty-eight – though, given, he and his wife _had_ been abnormalities.

“Understandable, under the circumstances,” was Helena’s reply after a few moments. Angela’s lips twitched.

“And ‘Godric’ huh?” At that, the squat witch gave Helena a significant look. Now, _that_ got her attention. They hadn’t sat down and talked since they had so spectacularly met up again, Helena instead deciding to call Godric down to them at first. That meant that there had been no questions asked about how Angela knew about ‘Gaia’, and now she was hinting she knew the origin of Godric’s name.

Helena cleared her throat. “Yes, about that...”

“Oh, you stop that,” Angela playfully berated Helena. The witch walked over to Helena once again, and after a moment of looking about, resigned herself to sit on the ground. Godric followed, and curled about around the back of Helena, keeping his eyes on Angela. He was as protective as ever. “Being bashful and docile doesn’t suit you.”

“Fair point,” Helena chuckled.

Angela nodded decisively, her curly hair bobbing up and down as she did. “Now, you ask the questions that you have in mind, and I’ll return the favour afterwards. Deal?”

“Deal.” Helena glanced over at Godric, and then back at Angela. The witch made a ‘yes, and?’ motion. “Alright, first question: How do you know about Earth?”

“Earth?” Angela asked, confused.

“Gaia,” Helena clarified. “You guessed correctly that I’m from Earth. ‘Gaia’ is the ancient magical name for Earth.”

“Ah, yes,” Angela smiled and leant back. Memories all but played over her irises as she looked up into the starlit sky, and Helena couldn’t but smile at the image. “My pops was from Gaia – Earth, as you call it. He was a Guardian.”

“Pops? Do you have a magical core, then?” Helena asked.

“A what?”

“A container of energy in your being,” Helena explained. “All witches and wizards from Earth, healthy ones at least, have a magical core. If your pops was a wizard, then-.“

“Ah, no, I don’t,” Angela shook her head. “I call him Pops, but he wasn’t my grandfather by blood. He was a wise elder in the village I was born in, respected by all.”

Helena couldn’t help but feel disappointed. While Angela might not ever have been on Earth, the hope that there was another of Helena’s kind in Alagaësia lifted something in her she had been suppressing since she discovered she was stuck there. But Angela wasn’t a witch by Gaian standards. And Helena was still alone.

‘ _Dear One...’_ Godric soothed. He didn’t try to come with hollow words of consolations because he knew what she was going through – more than just because he was connected to her. _He_ had felt like that before they had met Saphira. He didn’t feel like that anymore, no matter his feelings towards Saphira’s hesitance to go against the Galbatorix because of Eragon. Helena sent him a small wave of appreciation for him.

“And before you ask; yes, I do have actual parents and grandparents, and, no, I didn’t spawn from a rock in the Spine,” the witch quipped.

Helena chuckled. “You know, I actually accused Brom of that.” Her smile fell from her face, as the last memory she had of Brom was brought to the forefront of her mind.

Angela laughed. “Oh, I would’ve liked to see his reaction. And that does bring some questions with it, but I’ll wait my turn.”

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider gave a small, although now slightly strained, smile of appreciation, and decided to change the subject.

“You said your pops was a Guardian. Guardian of what?”

Angela shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It’s so very long ago, and I can’t remember if he told me and I’ve simply forgotten, or if he never said. My memory on other subjects are not lacking, so I’m inclined to believe the latter.” She paused. “You know, he used to tell the most amazing stories about Gaia. I told you he was respected, but many also believed he was slightly touched in the head because he insisted those stories were fact and not fiction.”

“But not you?”

“I’ve always been odd, so I’ve never been one to judge,” Angela chuckled. “Besides, as peaceful as my village was, it was also located as remotely as a village can be and was so bland and boring. Nothing ever happened there, so when Pops told me those stories about Gaia, I enraptured. Winged horses, powerful magicians, a _human_ society that revolved around magic, hidden away from their non-magical cousins... I _wanted_ them to be real. And, you know, he showed me magic that I have never seen the likes of again – until today.”

‘ _And that’s how you know of my namesake,’_ Godric commented.

“Exactly,” Angela smiled. “Pops told me all about Godric Gaffuldgold, Helma Himmtoff, Rowling Riffenraff, and Sillybell Slathering.” The bushy-haired witch got more and more excited, and looked like the kid who was told the stories in the first place. “And of course, he told me about warted hogs and meaded swines, alleys which run straight and never turn, and alleys which only appear at night.” Helena looked wide-eyed at Angela, too stunned to say or do anything – all the while Godric was roaring with laughter inside, and only barely managed to keep his chuffs to himself. “But I must say that my favourite story was about the greatest wizard of all times: Melvin.”

Godric couldn’t keep it together anymore and roared with laughter. No, not a hyperbole: he, in fact, roared. Now, hearing a dragon laugh is hilarious on its own – as she had mentioned, they sounded like they were trying to lodge something free from their throat, ‘chuffing’ if one will –, but to see a dragon lose his shit... That was something taking out of a dream. Tail lashing about, wings tugged all the way into the body, and the dragon rolling on the ground laughing. It was all too much for Helena, and her own laughter broke through loud and clear.

“... what? Was it something I said?” it came from Angela, which only renewed the strength of Helena’s and Godric’s laughter. It was too much for Solembum who jumped from Helena’s lap and curled up behind Angela.

“I’m sorry,” Helena finally managed to wheeze out after a minute. “Your pops either had askew memories of Earth, or he purposefully made alterations to the stories he told you.”

“What!? How?” Angela all but demanded, and Helena could see her childhood memories threatening to break.

“Relax, it’s nothing bad, I promise you,” Helena quickly told the witty witch. Precious childhood memories were important – Helena would know, given how few she had of them. “If I were to guess, he made the names a bit more amusing for your sake. The warted hog is a school called Hogwarts, which was founded by Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Near Hogwarts, a wizarding village is located called Hogsmeade, which your pops told you about as the meaded swines.  The alleys are named Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. And, finally, the greatest wizard of all time is called Merlin, not Melvin.”

Angela didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Thank you, but no thank you. I think I’m going to stick with my names.”

Helena chuckled. “You’re most welcome to. And I apologise for laughing, but compared to muggle names, wizarding names are already more than just a bit outlandish. I’m rather impressed that your Pops managed to alter them to be even more so.”

“Muggles? You mean muddlers? People born without magic?”

“Sure,” the Ruby Rider snorted.

Helena, of course, had many more questions about Earth. Were there more witches and wizards, Gaian witches and wizards, in Alagaësia? Had there been? If so, what were they doing there? And how had they gotten there? How had _she_ gotten there? How was Earth and Alagaësia connected, if they were even connected? And now, also, what was this Guardian position/figure Angela remembered from her childhood? And how did they fit into all of this?

Questions upon questions swirled in her head. It was evident, however, that Angela didn’t know anything more. That, coupled with another line of questioning burning in Helena’s mind with almost as much intensity as the questions about Earth, made her move on.

“So...” Helena began. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t really seem that surprised to discover that I’m a Rider.” Or perhaps there had been surprised, but the surprise that Helena was from ‘Gaia’ had simply made it seem insignificant.

“I don’t mind, and I wasn’t,” Angela answered bluntly. Well, there went that theory.

“Did Solembum tell you?” Helena asked.

“Did Solembum know?” Angela asked in surprise. The bushy-haired witch blinked and looked down at the black werecat. Solembum was altogether unconcerned with the conversation they were having, or at least he held the facade that he was, and only curled further together. “I guess you have your answer there: No, he didn’t tell me.” She paused. “And, just so you know, if Solembum knows any of your secrets, you do not have to worry about them getting out. He doesn’t share other’s secrets.”

“Oh, alright,” Helena trailed off. Then she got a confused look on her face. “How, then- _Why_ aren’t you surprised?”

Angela shrugged nonchalantly. “A new free Rider is old news. I was already introduced to one in Teirm.”

It took a moment for what Angela had said to sink in.

“ _Eragon told you he was a Dragon Rider!?_ ” Helena would admit that she _might_ have screeched just the tiniest bit there.

‘ _... if he didn’t, then you just did,’_ it came drily from Godric, and Helena immediately winced.

Angela broke out laughing. “Relax, you haven’t revealed his secret to me. Yes, he told me he was a Rider, more or less directly.”

‘ _More or less?’_ Godric asked confused.

“I wished to know whether Eragon was his name or who he was.”

Helena palmed her face in her hand. “So, let me get this straight: Eragon not only confirmed your suspicion that he was a Rider, he actually told you his real name?”

Angela paused and then nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

“You’ve got to be taking the piss,” Helena muttered. Honestly, she didn’t know whether to be exasperated or mad at Eragon. While it was true that it was before the stunt with the urgals, and before his ‘thinking lessons’ with Brom, Eragon should’ve known better than to reveal his identity to a complete stranger.

Helena’s eyes widened.

“Please tell me that you didn’t offer him to read his future, or, if you did, that he didn’t accept.”

“I did, and he did,” Angela answered. As Helena let out another string of curses, the curly-haired witch raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t like prophecies, do you?”

“No, I really, really don’t,” Helena answered with a frown. “While I know it’s possible to read the future, time is mutable. Nothing is set in stone. But the moment you hear a prophecy, any prophecy, it irrevocably affects the future; it affects the future if a person accepts the prophecy, and it affects the future if a person tries to fight the prophecy. It’s just one big mess of intertwined fates.” Helena sighed and looked up at Angela. “I apologise, I know this is not your fault. Eragon is... Eragon.”

Even as Helena felt like hitting Eragon on the top of his head – _hard_ –, a pang of longing made itself known in her chest. Merlin, she missed him and his antics. And while she _was_ berating him mentally, a part of her could understand why Eragon had told the herbalist: there was something about Angela that was trustworthy. Well, Helena might not have revealed such an enormous secret as being a Rider to Angela in Eragon’s place, Helena understood why the Blue Rider did what he did.

“I’m guessing you suspected Eragon was a Rider due to the contents of his prophecy, and you got confirmation out of him,” Helena said, deciding to get back to the line of questioning. “Why did you suspect me?”

“I never said I suspected you,” Angela corrected with a twinkle in her eyes. “You are correct in why I suspected Eragon. As for why I’m not that surprised at you being a Rider, is because I already suspected you to be involved. I saw you leaving Teirm with Eragon and Brom. Besides, compared to you being from Gaia, you being a Rider seems kind of inconsequential – no offence, Godric.”

‘ _None taken,’_ the dragon inclined his head.

Angela looked back at Helena, as the latter went over the answer. “You’re not going to ask about his prophecy? Not that I would tell you.”

“The prophecy doesn’t have to be about me, for it to affect my future,” Helena answered. “I don’t want to have anything to do with it. Besides, it’s Eragon’s prophecy, and if I ever want to know for some reason, it’s his decision whether or not he wants to share it.”

“Good answer,” Angela smiled. “Now, I do believe it’s my turn to ask questions – unless you have more that are burning in your mind?”

Helena shook her head. “Go ahead.”

“What are you doing out here?” Angela started off her line of questioning. Helena hesitated.

‘ _For once, I think you should follow the farmer’s boy’s lead,’_ Godric told her, and only her. ‘ _Listen to your gut feeling: you are right in your assessment that the witch can be trusted.’_

Helena turned to her partner. ‘ _Did she tell you something to back that up?’_

‘ _She didn’t. But my instincts are telling me the same that yours are telling you,_ ’ Godric answered. ‘ _If she should turn out not to be trustworthy, even then telling her where we are heading will do neither good nor harm: if she wants to hurt us, she’ll try it either way. But if she is trustworthy, and maybe even an enemy of the Oath-Breaker, then she might be able to help us.’_

Helena sighed, seeing the wisdom in Godric’s word... and Eragon’s actions. Angela had sat patiently by the fire, stroking Solembum lazily, all the while keeping her wise eyes on Helena.

“Godric and I... We are trying to find the Varden,” Helena finally revealed to the herbalist.

Angela merely looked at her for a few moments, making the witch-turned-Dragon Rider fidget a bit. Merlin, as quirky and fun as the herbalist could be, she could be just as intense as McGonagall.

“And Eragon and Brom?” Angela asked after almost half a minute. “Where are they?”

“We got... separated,” Helena answered vaguely. She winced mentally: she would not make excuses for what Godric did, and to anyone else, she would support him unflinchingly, but that didn’t mean she would enjoy doing it.

Angela raised an eyebrow. “Okay, why don’t you start from the beginning.”

“Of what?” Helena asked, deflating a bit. “Me? Godric? Eragon and Brom? How I came here? How I got separated from Eragon and Brom? How I happened to be looking for the Varden?”

Angela’s eyes twinkled again. “I’m never one to turn down knowledge, but I won’t make you go through _all_ of that. How about you just tell me what has occurred since you left Teirm?”

And so, she did.

Helena told the story of how she met Eragon and Brom in Teirm, and how she _met_ them. She spoke of how they had left the coastal centre of trade, the urgal incident, and glossed over the next few weeks as they trained in the Varden. Next came the journey to Dras-Leona, how the reason they were going there was that of the Ra’zac, and how everything had gone to hell in Dras-Leona. Finally came the point where Helena told about how she and Godric became separated from Eragon, Brom, and Saphira.

“... and when we got back there, there were no clues as to where they might’ve gone. We then travelled to Petrøvya, and from there tracked the Varden’s supply-line back and forward across Surda. And here we are,” Helena rounded off. She had been talking for close to half-an-hour, and her throat felt dry and parched.

“I... see,” was Angela’s simple answer. No matter how hard Helena tried, she couldn’t read into it. It was as neutral an answer as one could get – and that meant that Helena sat still, feeling a lot like when she was awaiting a sentencing from McGonagall or Molly when she had done something that was less than smart.

‘ _You should not blame Helena for my actions,’_ Godric broke the silence that had fallen around the campfire. ‘ _She has made it clear she does not agree with them-.'_

“Godric-,“ Helena attempted to interrupt him, biting his name out a bit harshly. Hadn’t she just gone over that she would stand by him, no matter what?

‘ _No, Helena, it needs to be said,’_ Godric reaffirmed himself. He turned to Angela. ‘ _I will not apologise for my actions because my Rider was in danger, and her safety will **always** be my first priority. But the way I protected her has left others at risk, possibly the last female of my kind, and the last other free Rider. If it happened again, I can’t say that the outcome wouldn’t be the same, but I would, with every fibre of my being, try to find another solution.’_

Helena sat stunned. Had he thought this much about it? ‘ _Of course I have,’_ Godric told her as his eyes softened. ‘ _You have been too; we’ve just not talked about it after the fact.’_

‘ _Well, I didn’t want to... rub it on your face is the wrong word... What I mean is, that you made a horrible decision, and it has consequences, and you are aware of that and I am aware of that, so there wasn’t anything else to say,’_ Helena replied, opting not to say it out loud as she usually did: this was not for Angela to hear.

‘ _Do you remember what I told you after Eragon had pulled that stunt with the urgals, and we fought while you made that potion of yours?’_ Godric asked her. Of course, she remembered that, because, while it hadn’t been anywhere as bad as the fight they had had after Godric had snatched her, that squabble in the wilds of the Spine had been their first true disagreement. ‘ _I meant what I said back then: I was going to try to see things from other people’s point of view – try to put myself in their footwear. I forgot that at the moment when you were in danger, but it has been on my mind since.’_

“I can’t judge you, Godric,” Angela told them, obviously not knowing there was a conversation going on between them. Both Helena and Godric looked over at the Alagaësian witch. She looked grave. “I wasn’t there, and even if I was, I do not have anything remotely like the bond there is between the two of you. Objectively, one can perhaps have wished for another outcome, but, as you have both made clear, you were in a very real danger. In the broader sense of things, it is better to lose only one of the last free Riders than to lose them both. It’s a terrible thing to say, but it is the truth.” She let that sink in for a moment. “Even if I did have a bond like yours, I still wouldn’t judge you. I could judge you to the end of times, and it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t care. I believe that in the end, the only person who can truly judge you is yourself. Well, and perhaps your Rider.”

Helena looked over at Godric as he swallowed that nugget of wisdom. He inclined his head towards the bushy-haired witch a few moments later. Helena smiled softly and put a hand on Godric. The dragon didn’t outwardly acknowledge it, but the warm affection that blossomed in his chest was all Helena needed to know it was appreciated.

Angela took a deep breath and got onto her feet. She walked a few steps away and stood with her back to the small campfire, and stayed like that for several long moments.

“What is your intention once you make it to the Varden?” Angela asked of them.

“We do not mean them harm,” Helena quickly assured. “But... we have several reasons to seek out the Varden.”

“Such as?” Angela pressed.

Helena sighed. “First and foremost: to find Eragon, Saphira, and Brom. I’ve been able to scry Eragon and Saphira, so they’re alive.”

Angela turned around. “And Brom?”

The Ruby Rider frowned in worry. “I haven’t been able to scry him. The surface stays blank. Does that...?”

“That he is dead?” the herbalist finished the terrible question. “Under normal circumstances, I would say yes. However, Brom is a major _known_ enemy of Galbatorix and his Black Hand. If I were him, I would’ve placed wards on myself to prevent anyone from scrying me. And while Brom is nowhere near as witty as me,” that was said with a wink, “he has survived for this long. Such wards would cause a blank scrying like the one you experienced.”

Helena breathed out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t an absolute reassurance that Godric’s stunt hadn’t killed him, but it was at least a hope.

“Thank Merlin,” the Ruby Rider muttered. She took a deep settling breath. “But, yeah, we want to meet up with them at the Varden. Brom was planning on taking us there, and after what went down in Dras-Leona, I can imagine his plans has moved up quite a bit.”

“And after you have met up with them?” Angela asked. “Or even before, for that matter? There are no guarantees that they will be there when you arrive, so are you just going to sit around waiting?”

“That is a more complicated question,” Helena started. She bit her lower lip lightly. “Godric and I wish to fight Galbatorix, and fighting with the Varden seems to be a pretty good way to do just that. However, neither of us want to join the Varden or be under their command. Brom warned both Eragon and me about that, and I have my own experiences to draw from to imagine what the Varden could try to gain influence. We want to help in the fight against the Oath-Breaker, but we wish to remain independent. So, as for your question, what we do before and after we meet up with Eragon and Saphira, is up to the Varden and their actions.”

“They’re not going to like that,” Angela grinned. “I love it. And as it just so happens, I’m on my way there as well.”

“You are?” it came from Helena surprised. And then, “But, if you’re part of the Varden, wouldn’t you be more hesitant about us not wanting to join up.”

“First of all,” Angela replied, holding a finger up, “I’m not ‘part’ of the Varden. I’ve helped them for decades, and they know I support them, but there are also areas I disagree with them. To not talk about their so-called magicians...” The last part was muttered, causing Helena to raise an eyebrow in question. The Alagaësian witch waved it away as unimportant for now. “Second of all, I think you have underestimated just how complicated and intricate the politics in the Varden are. While they have a leader, the current one is named Ajihad, they also have a Council of Elders, each one with their personal agenda. Outwardly, it may seem that the Varden simply has one stance, but internally they have dozens of different attitudes from various groups of people. Many would surely like to have a Dragon Rider under the Varden’s control, but others are bound to see the benefit of having the Riders stay independent.”

“And what stance do you have on the subject?” Helena challenged with a raised eyebrow. “Even if you’re not part of the Varden, the question of our independence is not something that only concerns them.”

“Honestly? That is not a question I can answer yet,” was Angela’s candid answer. She explained, “The Old Order did a lot of good, but they also did a lot of harm. Given, they did more good than harm, but that doesn’t mean the harm they did was minor by any means. They weren’t ‘good’, they weren’t ‘nice’, they were just ‘right’, and that is a dangerous philosophy to have.”

“I know,” Helena answered quietly. Now it was Angela’s turn to look inquisitive. Helena sighed. “There was a war back home, and the sides were described as ‘Dark’ and ‘Light’. While it is true that that can be more accurate on Earth than on Alagaësia, as Light and Dark magics does exist, people are not as easily described. Don’t get me wrong, the Dark side did horrible, inexcusable, unforgivable deeds, but they were not all evil. Likewise, the Light side wasn't all people who could do not bad, and we did do some pretty gruesome stuff in the name of the Light. And then there was the last leader of the Light side, Dumbledore...”

Helena trailed off, not sure if she could convey all her feelings on Dumbledore in a short amount of time. She had forgiven him – if not for his sake, then for her own sake. Anger is an acid that does more damage to its container than to the object on which it is poured and all that. And Dumbledore _did_ do good and was there for her in many of her darkest hours, and probably was the closest thing she had had to a grandfather. But Snape was right – and that wasn’t easy to admit, given her feelings on the late Potions Master –: Dumbledore had raised her a lamb for slaughter.

The Ruby Rider shook her head to get rid of the thoughts. “Just trust me, I know.”

Angela looked her up and down. “Perhaps you do. But I don’t know you yet – nor Eragon. Before that, I can’t truthfully give an answer to whether you should have some oversight, or who that oversight should be for that matter.”

“Fair enough,” Helena chuckled. “If you’re going to the Varden, perhaps...”

Angela ‘tsk’ed. “I wouldn’t have revealed my destination if I wasn’t going to offer to lead you there. Though you should know that it will grant you no favours, that you arrive with me instead of alone. As I said, there are many facets of Varden politics, and some of them like me, and some of them don’t. Arriving alone or arriving with me, they both advantages and disadvantages.”

“That’s a bit of a relief,” Helena said with a soft smile. “Just knowing that the Varden doesn’t speak with one voice gives us opportunities I didn’t know we had before.”

‘ _Even if the leadership is against us, we can appeal to another group within the Varden,’_ Godric elaborated.

Angela nodded. “And then there are the dwarves, of course.”

“ _The dwarves?_ ” Helena exclaimed in the surprised. “The Varden is with the dwarves?”

Angela looked sharply at her. “Brom didn’t tell you?”

“I don’t know if you have met Brom, but he keeps his cards close to his chest,” Helena drawled making the herbalist crack a smile. “He revealed that the Varden were his ‘friends’ and that he helped rescue Saphira’s egg with Jeod from Galbatorix, but not much else.”

Angela mulled that over. “Before I reveal anything else, and before I even consider leading you to the Varden, I need your word that you will not harm the Varden.”

Helena’s face tightened slightly. “I understand why you ask for a vow, but I cannot give you one such as the one you have worded.”

“And why is that?” Angela asked sharply.

“Just as you do not know Eragon or me, I am not sure of the Varden outside of what I have been told,” Helena explained, keeping her eyes on Angela. This felt like a do or die situation, and Angela wasn’t an enemy Helena wanted. “I cannot imagine _from what we’ve been told_ that we would become an enemy of the Varden, but you yourself have revealed that there are many different layers to the Varden. What if a philosophy, formerly suppressed, rose to dominate the politics there? What if that philosophy sought for, for example, human dominance instead of just the liberation of the empire from the Black King? If I gave you a vow such as the one you worded, I would be able to do nothing, and I cannot let that happen.”

Godric rumbled in agreement. ‘ _We are immortals now. Though able to be killed by the sword or by illness, we will endure. We cannot give absolute vows without any clauses of release under certain circumstances.’_

Angela smiled. “I wasn’t wrong about you: you have wit.” Helena inclined her head. “What vow would you be willing to swear. And, yes, before you ask, both of you will have to swear. It was a common trick amongst the Riders that the Rider swore an oath, but the dragon didn’t, and thus wasn’t bound by said oath.”

Helena looked to Godric. “We are willing to swear that we do not believe ourselves to be enemies of the Varden. We are looking for allies in the fight against Galbatorix. We are looking to dispose of Galbatorix and liberate his subjects. As long as the Varden has the same goals as stated before, and fights for the freedom of all from Galbatorix and not just humans, we will not harm them. But if they begin to show the tendencies of the enemy, or begins to arse around and become corrupt, all bets are off.”

‘ _And this oath is only in effect until the Oath-Breaker is dethroned,’_ Godric added. Helena nodded in agreement.

Angela looked thoughtful and then nodded slowly. “Alright... Alright, that is fair. The Varden might not be satisfied with it, but I am. Now, repeat after me...”

Both Helena and Godric were hesitant to simply follow orders and repeat Angela’s words in the Ancient Language. As trustworthy as the Alagaësian witch seemed, she hadn’t earned their trust like, for example, Brom had, and could potentially bind them to anything. Fortunately, Brom had taught them enough about the Ancient Language that, while they couldn’t understand everything Angela said, they could understand enough to learn that the oath was the one they had agreed upon. And so Helena and Godric made the promise in the Ancient Language.

“... Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shurtugal,” Helena finished on her own accord. _Upon my word as a Rider._ That alone wasn’t enough to convince anyone of her sincerity, but anyone knowing Helena knew how much her word meant to her. For her, it was a powerful statement, though it was just that: a statement.

Angela seemed satisfied.

‘ _So... the dwarves?’_ Godric asked.

“Ah, yes, the Varden is located inside the mountain of Farthen Dûr, at the Dwarven capital of Tronjheim,” Angela answered nonchalantly.

‘ _Huh,’_ the response came from the ruby dragon. ‘ _Perhaps the goblins **are** more advanced.’_

“Or the dwarves could’ve just retreated, like the elves did,” Helena pointed out. Angela looked confused, so Helena explained, “Godric and I discussed where the Varden could be located in order to find them. We had several guesses, but quickly dismissed Surda and Du Weldenvarden. Another guess was with the dwarves, but we didn’t know where they were located. A guess at that, then, was either under the Spine or under the Beor Mountains, as stone is easier to build in – and then I pointed out that the goblins of Earth, a subterranean race like the dwarves, are able to build almost everywhere, given enough time to secure the area.”

“Ah, well, as far as I know, the dwarves have lived only under the Beor mountains for thousands of years,” Angela responded. “Apart from the dragons, they are the oldest native race to Alagaësia. They lived on the Hadarac Plains before it turned into the Hadarac Desert.” She paused. “Don’t you have dwarves on Earth?”

Helena made a face, and motion ‘so-and-so’ with her hand. “They are a scattered people at best, even the vampires and werewolves being more organised.”

“Vampires? And were _wolves_?” Angela asked. Solembum hissed, and the Alagaësian turned to the cat with a grin. “I know, right?”

Helena chuckled. “Two ostracised races – and that’s a longer story for another time.” Angela accepted that answer. “And even if we have a race named ‘dwarves’, there is no guarantee that it is the same dwarves as you have here in Alagaësia. We also have elves at home, but they are only two-to-three feet tall and are dependent on wizardkind for their magic, so they are most definitely not the same as what I’ve been told elves are here.”

Angela’s eyes bugged out. “Two-to-three feet? Really?”

Helena smiled. “They do look kind of comical, I will admit. But they are also some of the most courageous beings, and powerful like you won’t believe.” Her thoughts went to Dobby, and a pang of regret hit her. Merlin, she hoped she had let him know what was going on before she left Earth, or he would be a mess. He should be okay with the residual magic residing in Grimmauld Place – and if that wasn’t enough, he knew he was welcome at Hogwarts.

Godric sensing the change of mood in Helena turned to Angela and changed the subject, ‘ _But you will take us to the Varden?’_

Angela nodded. “I will. I must say, however, that I believe you would’ve found them by yourself sooner or later. I’m quite impressed by how you tracked down the supplies. Though, be careful of how you tell the Varden, as their first reaction might be a bit more... negative.”

“Understandable,” Helena snorted. “An eighteen-year-old girl and her dragon tracked them down, where the empire couldn’t.”

Angela chuckled. “It is about time someone shook things up there.” Helena shook her head with a smile at the herbalist’s antics.

“Before we go any further,” Helena started and brought out their map. “Will you tell us where Farthen Dûr is? I know you said you would take us there, but Brom said the same. I don’t know what could happen to potentially split us up, but I would rather be safe than sorry.”

“Hmm, alright then,” Angela agreed. She looked over the map and made a face, “Clearly human-made. Precise enough for your purpose. Farthen Dûr is located there,” she said and pointed to the middle of the Beor Mountains. “We’ll approach it in the dwarven tunnels, entering them there,” she continued, now pointing to a point some ways into the Beor Mountains, but still much closer to where they were located. “However, if we do split up, I think it would be wisest to enter here.” This time she pointed to another location within the Beor Mountains, much closer to the dwarven capital. “The entrance is located at Lake Kóstha-mérna at the end of the Beartooth River. Take a rock there and bang it on the stone wall and shout ‘Aí Varden abr du Shur'tugalar gata vanta’.”

“And they’ll let us in?” Helena asked.

“It’s not a magical code-word that will upon the doors, but there are guards there who will hear you,” Angela answered Helena’s question. “It might take some time for the order to open the door to arrive, so you should make yourself comfortable. But let’s count on us not getting split up.”

“Indeed,” Helena chuckled. “I just had to be sure.”

“As you should be,” Angela nodded. “Unless you have any more questions you need immediate answers on, I would suggest that we go to sleep. It’s still a few days of walking, since we mere mortals can’t fly, to the tunnel entrance.”

The mortal bit was clearly meant as a jest, but regardless of how much Helena had pushed it to the back of her mind, it was still an issue she wasn’t over. Not being something she wanted anyone else to bother with, she faked a small laugh.

“Sleep it is, then,” Helena said. “And Angela? Thank you?”

“Nonsense,” the curly-haired witch dismissed with a wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got to be one of the longest, if not the longest, scene I have written. Sure, I have written chapters that are longer, but not a single scene that lasts for 7k words.  
> I hope you can feel a slight shift in the story now. Instead of Helena (and Godric) merely reacting to events taking place around them, they are starting to act, to take the initiative. An example is Helena thinking about things she wants to change as a Dragon Rider.  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> Ancient Language Translations:  
> Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shurtugal – Upon my word as a Rider.  
> Aí varden abr du Shur'tugalar gata vanta – A warden of the Riders lacks passage.


	15. A Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Indeed,” Angela nodded. She had glanced briefly over at them and then turned back to the gate to give them some illusion of privacy. She was a fast learner; Godric wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone but Helena seeing him like this. “It would’ve taken less time, but one of the tunnels had collapsed, and-.”  
> ‘Collapsed!?’ Godric reared his head back.  
> “Angela!” Helena hissed through her teeth.  
> “Ah... Sorry,” the witch in question smiled sheepishly. “The dwarven tunnels are robust. They don’t collapse without any warning. They are even built so that even if the smallest danger of them collapsing is there, then it shows. We are at greater risk of tripping and accidentally impale our teeth in our shins than the tunnels collapsing on us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Helena stood staring at the entrance to the Dwarven tunnels with mouth agape for several moments. Her only prior experience with subterranean beings were the goblins, and her only experience with their engineering and architecture was Gringotts Bank, which wasn’t much to go on. Still, she didn’t know why she was surprised that the dwarves would mark the entrance to their underground kingdom with great stone doors; they had to be a dozen and some metres tall and half that wide. Perhaps it was because they were hiding, but they had not always been that, had they? Before Galbatorix took over their gates were open, and trade flowed freely above and below ground. Just like Teirm had its great wall to impress visitors, the dwarves had this grand entrance. As for hiding the entrance, considering how many twists and turns in the mountains that Helena, Godric, and Angela had had to take to get there, Helena didn’t believe it could be a problem (and apparently hadn’t been for over a century).

Judging by the gate, the dwarves of Alagaësia seem to prefer solid structures of stone to something fancier. Gringotts Bank was entirely gothic in architectural terms, and so were the examples of other goblin engineering Helena had seen (which, admittedly, was only in books). The closest architectural style that Helena would compare it to would be classical – and yet, not. The Dwarven architectural form was nothing but Dwarven she concluded and wasn’t that something.

Angela’s chuckling brought Helena back to the present.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet, dearie,” Angela said with mirth. The eccentric witch turned to the Dwarven gates, put her hands on her hips, and breathed in deeply. “Ah, the dwarves. I think they might be my favourite people of the land. Not so piss boring and predictable as the humans, but not so lofty and absent-minded as the elves. They’re robust people.”

Solembum erupted in a displeased hiss at that. Angela turned to the werecat, his tail swishing back and forward in agitation, and merely raised an eyebrow.

“Of course you know that you are my favourite _person_ , Solembum. But you know how your kind can be. Well, to me at least.”

That seemed to satisfy the werecat. Helena thought that the relationship Angela and Solembum had was beautiful. Helena would compare it to her bond with Godric, but didn’t believe that fair – to Angela and Solembum. There had never been a question about Godric and herself being compatible; that Godric had even hatched for her assured that. Solembum and Angela, however, had found each other like two tumbleweeds in the wind and stuck together even though they rubbed at each other from time to time.

“I’m looking forward to meeting them,” Helena responded, turning her eyes back towards the gate. “I only met a single dwarf back home, and like I mentioned the other day, they’re too scattered to be called an independent race in anything other than biological terms.”

“Hmm, how was he?” Angela asked.

“The dwarf? Rather delightful,” Helena answered with a grin, starting to get the hang of the way Angela’s mind worked (if that was even possible). “He made the best apple pie you’ll ever have and loved to tell jokes about pixies and gnomes. The jokes could’ve been better.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Angela laughed with a clap. “Well, we better get going. The last time it took me almost a week to make it to Farthen Dûr through these tunnels.”

‘ _A week?’_ Godric asked with unease. Some of the cheer Helena was feeling dimmed, and she turned to her partner. He was standing with his wings slightly unfurled and unstill. She walked the few steps over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, sending him feelings of comfort. Godric didn’t take his eyes off the Dwarven gates.

There wasn’t anything she could tell him to make him feel better. It had taken them a few days to make it through the mountains to the gate, and Godric had become more and more skittish as they did. It had first begun when they had entered the mountains; Godric was used to be able to fly above everything and not be contained, but the Beor Mountains were just too large and tall. If he didn’t pass out of oxygen starvation, Helena would bet that he, even with the magic that aided his flying, would lose lift before he reached the top. But that hadn’t been too bad since the valleys they had been travelling through had been in proportion with the mountains. Then, though, the idea of being in underground tunnels had gradually settled in the ruby dragon’s mind, and there was nothing Helena could do but be there for him.

“Indeed,” Angela nodded. She had glanced briefly over at them and then turned back to the gate to give them some illusion of privacy. She was a fast learner; Godric wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone but Helena seeing him like this. “It would’ve taken less time, but one of the tunnels had collapsed, and-.”

‘ ** _Collapsed!?’_** Godric reared his head back.

“Angela!” Helena hissed through her teeth.

“Ah... Sorry,” the witch in question smiled sheepishly. “The Dwarven tunnels are robust. They don’t collapse without any warning. They are even built so that even if the smallest danger of them collapsing is there, then it shows. We are at greater risk of tripping and accidentally impale our teeth in our shins than the tunnels collapsing on us.”

That seemed to calm Godric some, and Helena let out a breath of relief. A skittish dragon wasn’t the easiest thing to handle. Godric sent apologetic thoughts, to which Helena only smiled warmly. He couldn’t help that it made him uneasy. It was understandable, natural even. He was a creature of the sky, who was now moving willingly underground.

Angela continued, “I had to take another way around which required that I retrace my steps for half a day. A week underground is the worst-case scenario.”

‘ _That’s... good,’_ Godric managed to communicate. He took a deep breath and shook himself from snout to tail end. ‘ _We should go before I lose my bottle again.’_

Helena nodded to that and turned to the Alagaësian witch. “Angela?”

Angela was already at the door, fiddling with some mechanism. “I’m working, just give me a... There we go.” A resounding click sounded which echoed throughout the valley. It was followed by stone grating on stone as the grand doors swung open. The witch didn’t hesitate and started walking into the darkness with Solembum at her side.

“Are you going to be alright?” Helena felt the need to ask Godric.

A sound that could only closest be described as mewling came from Godric’s chest, but he stopped it before it had truly begun. He took a deep breath and shook his body again.

‘ _I need to be. We need to get to the Varden.’_ His large eyes moved to her. They were almost as large as teacups now.

“Sometimes I wish you were still a hatchling I could protect from the world,” Helena told him fondly, stroking his chin. “I hate to see you like this.”

Despite himself, Godric managed to let out a few of his chuffing laughs. ‘ _Right this moment I wouldn’t mind being a hatchling either. The tunnels wouldn’t seem so confining to me, I think.’_ He blew out of his nose, and dark smoke came with it. It wouldn’t be long until he would breathe fire, at least according to what they had learned from Brom. ‘ _What was it you used to tell yourself? It can’t kill me so I shouldn’t be scared?’_

“That’s a horrible thing to tell oneself, and you know it,” Helena pointed out. “I was a messed up kid going through messed up stuff, and I needed to hold onto something. That it could only be ‘oh well, it won’t kill me’ is just sad.” She stepped in front of the ruby dragon and held his head in her hands, looking into his eyes – just as she had done when he was a hatchling. “You are a strong, courageous, magnificent dragon, My Heart. And you are strong enough to make it through this. We’ll make it to Farthen Dûr, and while it won’t be outside, according to Angela there are more than enough space for you to fly comfortably. Try to remember that the dwarves had to accommodate the Riders and dragons for several thousand years before the Oath-breaker took the throne.”

A deep rumbling sounded from Godric, and he just responded with, ‘ _I love you so, Dear One.’_

With that, the two of them joined Angela and Solembum in the tunnel. They were waiting just inside and again made it look like it was by their own choice and not because they waited for the skittish dragon to get his act together. Godric shot her an annoyed look at that, and Helena bumped her shoulder against him with a grin on her face. As she took in the tunnel her smile fell again, however; if the doors had been impressive, then the shaft was stunning.

Of course, it was abandoned and had clearly seen better days, but still, Helena could no more in good conscience call this a tunnel. It was a road, an underground highway, just as much as (if not more than) the roads the muggles built through mountains. It was as wide and as tall as the door, and the floor covered by brown stone which had cracked and chipped over the many years. The walls had been cut with precision so as to almost make a ninety-degree angle with the floor; this surprised Helena, as the goblins just blasted their way through rock between their settlements (Gringotts bank, or rather the vaults underneath, were an example of that). Carved onto the walls were imagery of dwarves undergoing various activities; without knowing anything about them, Helena would guess that it was perhaps a brief look at the most significant moments in their history. Honestly, if you were going to put this much effort into an entrance, then you would want only to put your best foot forward. It was stunning. Lastly, from the ceiling hung melon-sized bulbs which resembled lamps, but which were no longer lit. They had been extinguished ages ago.

“They’re called Erisdar,” Angela explained, motioning to the unlit lamps. “Quite an invention, which is why the elf – also known as Erisdar – is still celebrated by both elves and dwarves. They’re flameless and can last for centuries before they flicker out. It’s been longer than that since the dwarves used these parts of their tunnels.”

“The dwarves didn’t use this gate before the Black King slaughtered the Old Order?” Helena asked. So much for her assumption that they had been open and filled with trade caravans.

“Sure, long before Galbatorix did so,” Angela answered with a twinkle in her eye. “But like men, the dwarves don’t sit idle. While the heart of their kingdom has been the City-Mountain since it was carved, the outer reaches have changed with each generation. Whole cities lie abandoned while new ones are being built.”

“Huh,” Helena let out. “That’s... a bit sad, actually. I’m sure the dwarves who built this thought it was going to last.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “And hasn’t it? Aren’t we standing inside what they carved out from solid mountain?”

Helena’s lips twitched. “True enough. The sentiment still stands.” Angela inclined her head at that. Helena looked at the carved walls. “What I wouldn’t have given to see this in its prime.”

‘ _You believe them to be robbed of their splendour?’_ Godric asked, having calmed a bit at Helena’s thoughts. That might sound strange, but distraction was a powerful thing. ‘ _Like the Great Pyramids?’_

“No, no such thing,” Helena denied. “But you see all the cracks in the floor and how some of the imagery has almost eroded from the walls. That’s just through sheer negligence.”

Godric hummed at that. Helena watched him fondly as he stepped closer to one of the walls. The dragons might look fierce – and don’t ever think they weren’t – but no-one could deny the intelligence that they held if they saw what she saw. Godric was assessing a relic from another culture, judging it against his own knowledge of such thing (which had mainly been granted by Helena herself). There was something utterly beautiful about it.

“What are the Great Pyramids?” Angela asked curiously.

“They’re giant structures built in Ancient Egypt with the cooperation of muggles and wizards,” Helena explained. “They were beautiful back in the day, the tallest standing hundred-and-fifty metres, and all covered in polished limestone. In the last millennium, however, much of the limestone has been taken from them to build other structures in the area. Understandable, given that it’s located in a great desert and building material was difficult to come by, but it indeed took the ethereal element out of the pyramids. Don’t get me wrong; they’re still impressive; there’s a reason they’re described as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.”

“I thought that wizards and witches lived separated from the non-magical population of Earth?”

“The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was only established in 1692, so a relatively new establishment,” Helena told the witch. “We’re in the year 1999 in the Common Era for reference, so a bit over three hundred years.  The earliest signs of wizarding society were in 5000 Before the Common Era, and the Great Pyramids were built around 2500 Before the Common Era.”

Angela’s eyes had widened, and her mouth was in the shape of an ‘o’. “Such a long time? My, that’s nearly as long as the dwarves claim their race is old.”

Now it was Helena who raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like it has a history accompanying it.”

“Well, the dwarves believe that their gods created us all,” Angela began telling. “You must excuse me, but to remember all their names would simply be too bothersome. They had a big war with the giants, and once they were vanquished, they began to create the sentient races. Mind you, the King of the Gods had forbidden this, so it had to be done in secret. The dwarves were created first, allegedly some eight thousand years ago this year – yes, the dwarves are very precise when it comes to the creation of their race – and soon the other gods became jealous and created the rest of us.”

“Huh,” Helena hummed. “And the elves?”

“They don’t believe anything but what is right in front of their eyes. And sometimes not even then,” Angela answered displeased. “They might be beautiful, but Gods they can be stupid.”

“And what about you, Oh Great One?” Helena challenged with a laugh.

Angela smiled so her eyes crinkled. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Helena felt a sting of disappointment but rolled her eyes good-heartedly.

“Well, we should be going I would think,” Helena changed the subject, turning her attention into the darkening tunnel. Where they were standing the light from outside shone through the door, but another dozen metres into the tunnel and it was pitch black. There was an easy fix to that. “Lumos.”

Angela watched Helena as the light formed from her left hand. The Alagaësian witch’s mouth formed into an ‘o’ and her eyes seemed to try and analyse the magic as it had done each time she had performed Gaian magic. Not that Helena could blame the Angela as Helena was the same at times; trying to make heads and tails of her changed magic. For instance, the Lumos Charm usually lit up the tip of one’s wand, but as that (obviously) wasn’t possible in this case, it instead formed a small ball of light. The ball was lazily floating above her head and followed her as she went but was no more anchored to her than that it could float in somewhat complicated patterns. Curious and curiouser.

“Well, right you are, my dear,” Angela agreed once she had finished admiring the magic. She grinned wildly and pointed down the tunnel. “Onwards to victory!” Helena shot her a glance, and the Alagaësian witch merely shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to say that; it seemed like as good a moment as any.”

Helena chuckled and shook her head, following the witch and the werecat. Godric followed close behind her. She glanced behind her.

‘ _It will be alright, My Heart. If worse comes to worst, I can always apparate us out of here.’_

Relief, and then the equivalent of a mental frown was sent to her. ‘ _Can you?’_

Helena was perplexed at the question at first but then began to frown herself. While she had gotten her apparation under control and gotten used to how much energy it took in Alagaësia, she had never tried to apparate with Godric. If he had been a wyvern, it would’ve been out of the question, their resistance to magic making sure of that. But Godric _didn’t_ have any resistance to magic, so shouldn’t she be able to? While Godric couldn’t be compared to humans or horses, which she had apparated out of Dras-Leona, dragons could arguably be compared to Gaian witches and wizards with their magical cores. But... it wasn’t a certainty.

Helena cursed under her breath. Another uncertainty added, just as Godric needed the opposite. As soon as they were able, they needed to check if they were able to apparate together.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ Helena told her heart’s partner.

Godric breathed warm air into the back of her head, tickling her neck. ‘ _I cannot say that this is pleasant, but I would follow you to much worse locations. As long as I am with you, I will be alright.’_ It didn’t stop the guilt from eating Helena’s insides, but it did lessen it.

‘ _A week at most,_ ’ Helena reminded him. He breathed out again in response.

~ BWaC ~

Six days. They had been walking through these gods-forsaken tunnels for six freakin’ days. Helena’s fascination had dimmed on the dawning of the third day and had been replaced with irritation and annoyance on the setting of the fourth day. As they had entered the tunnels, she had stated that Godric was a Creature of the Sky, but wasn’t that also true for her? Perhaps not in the sense that Godric was, but Helena had never felt like she belonged more than when she flew with him (and before that, when she flew on a broomstick). Second, to that was running as a wolf and letting her instinct take over; there was a freedom to that which just wasn’t possible to embrace as a witch. Oh, how she longed for the wind and the sky, and for any other smell than that old and musty (she would be surprised if the lining of her lungs weren't filled with mould).

Helena took a deep breath (ignoring before-mentioned smells) and tried to calm herself. Godric’s mind brushed closer against hers, and they suffered together. There really was something to the whole ‘strength in numbers’ phrase.

As was evident, to move underground had been much more of a challenge than Helena had first anticipated it to be. She thanked the heavens for the Tempus and Calentempa Charms so that she was at least able to keep track of the days. She could calm herself with logic (or at least attempt to); while it might feel like they hadn’t been on the surface for almost three weeks, it had only been six days since they entered the Dwarven tunnels.

Glancing at Angela, Helena felt the sting of envy. The herbalist seemed wholly unaffected by the whole experience. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider wouldn’t even get started on Solembum, who appeared to have the time of his life with all the rodents who lived down here. But back to Angela; the Gaian witch _had_ said she had been to the Varden before, so this, of course, wasn’t her first time underground. Helena could only trust her when she said that Farthen Dûr was different, or Helena would surely go crazy within the first month.

Just as Helena lost the childish urge to ask if they would be arriving soon did Angela halt abruptly. Helena knew why a fraction of a second later as her ears captured the sounds of metal and leather grinding against leather; the noise of armour. It said something about Angela’s abilities that she had noticed them even before Godric (though in the ruby’s dragons defence, he was just as affected as Helena by being underground). It was no wonder Angela had caught Helena that night almost a fortnight ago by the campfire.

Helena stopped by Angela’s side and had to fight the motion to put a hand on the Sword of Gryffindor. It was quite impressive that she had developed such instincts when she had only periodically held a sword before arriving in Alagaësia. Brom indeed was a great, albeit ruthless, teacher.

That was the moment a patrol of guards turned the corner. They were smiling, one of them laughing, and altogether trying to make the best of what was possibly a tedious patrol duty. A part of her thought them sloppy, but the majority of her understood; Farthen Dûr’s location was hidden. Even if someone knew the location, it was another story to indeed find an entrance to the Dwarven tunnels and then to navigate them.

They looked... ordinary. Helena didn’t know what she expected; it was she who had stated to Godric that the Varden consisted of families first and foremost. She might have been more influenced by the stories she had heard (mainly from Eragon) about the resistance group. They weren’t inhuman mountain men who could kill ten of the Empire’s men for each one of their own who was slain. They were just men, ranging from one just out of adolescence to one whose hair had begun greying.  They were... ordinary people.

The moment to analyse guard patrol was over as they registered just what was standing in front of them; two unknown intruders and a dragon. The sound of swords being unsheathed echoed in the tunnel as the patrol armed themselves. Two of them withdrew bows and put arrows on the string, and one of them didn’t wait; he fired.

Helena acted on instinct, her shoulder and thigh aching from where she was hit in Dras-Leona. Her eyes lit up momentarily, and she raised her marked hand, stopping the arrow mid-air. Another thought and the arrow was engulfed in vigorous and warm ruby flames, causing the patrol to jump back in fright. It only lasted a moment; their eyes narrowed and filled with determination, and they grasped their weapons once again. They were about to charge.

“Wait!” Angela’s voice rang out as a command. Helena blinked at the tone of voice, not having heard it from the small herbalist before. “The mountain lion mewls at the new moon in autumn.”

Helena shot Angela a perplexed look. She knew that the herbalist was odd, to say the least, but to pick such a moment to-. Helena’s train of thought halted as the stance of the soldiers changed.

“The moon rarely reaches the mountain’s roots,” one of the soldiers replied, his eyes still watching their every move.

Angela shrugged. “The king cares not.”

That was when the soldiers lowered their weapons. Helena’s eyes widened, and she felt the same understanding fill Godric.

‘ _A passphrase,_ ’ Godric vocalised.

“Who are you?” the same soldier who had replied to Angela demanded of them. Helena didn’t miss how the other soldiers looked to him. He was the top-ranking officer there.

“Angela the Herbalist,” Angela replied dutifully. “And this is Solembum.” The werecat meowed, though the lead soldier didn’t spare him more than a glance. He probably took him for a mere cat.

“And you,” the soldier demanded of Helena, his tone much harsher. “We have heard nothing of a Free Rider. Who are you?”

“I am Helena,” Helena presented herself in as respectful a tone as she could muster. Knowing that they might not take too kindly to having a dragon in their midst (there was no way of knowing beforehand if one of them was sensitive to such intrusions), she also went ahead and presented Godric. “And this is Godric, my partner.”

The soldier looked all three of them over, his eyes not leaving Godric for more than a few moments. Helena was impressed; there was fear in his eyes, which was understandable, but he was also assessing them, trying to find any weakness. He had earned his rank by way of skill.

“None of you moves,” the lead soldier then ordered them. “Any of you disobey, and you will find an arrow between your eyes.”

Godric’s lips lifted, and a growl rang out into the tunnel. The soldiers jumped and raised their weapons.

“Godric!” Helena admonished verbally. Godric’s eyes moved to her and slowly lowered his lips again. Some vibrations could still be felt in the stone floor, but there was nothing to be done about that. Godric settled by narrowing his eyes at the soldiers, making it clear how he felt about that order.

The lead soldier, his weapon raised along with the rest of the patrol, lowered it slightly as he eyed Helena.

“I apologise,” Helena told him, even though she felt Godric’s reaction was entirely warranted. “He doesn’t like it when I’m threatened.”

The lead soldier hesitated but then nodded at her explanation. He turned to look at the patrol and motioned with his head at one of the soldiers. The soldier nodded and turned about and ran down the tunnel the patrol had come from.

“He is getting someone of senior rank,” the lead soldier explained to them. “I am not qualified nor skilled to make a decision here.”

Mentally Helena took note of the ‘skilled’ part of the explanation, and her jaw tightened. They were calling a magician, which probably meant they wanted to search her mind. Helena narrowed her eyes slightly at that. It didn’t go unnoticed, and again the soldiers raised their swords and tightened their bowstrings. Nothing more happened, however, and then they were left to wait.

It was close to thirty minutes until activity returned to the tunnel. Helena didn’t have to see to know that it was a _lot_ of people – soldiers she would guess – who was coming down the tunnel. That was understandable enough (as she’d said more than a few times now) as a dragon and his Rider had just arrived at their headquarters and home. It was like Helena had said months earlier to Godric, just after they had left Teirm; the Varden would be even more suspicious of them _because_ they were a Rider. The Varden might need a Rider to stand a chance against Galbatorix truly, but likewise, if a hostile Rider made it into their ranks, it could spell their doom and destruction.

The group of soldiers turning the corner numbered less than she had expected, her best assessment estimating them to be around thirty to thirty-five. The majority of them were human, but there were a handful of dwarves among them as well. They looked much like their Gaian counterparts; short, stout, robust, and hairy.

It wasn’t hard either to guess who the magicians (because, yes, there were more than one) in the group was; two men, who also appeared to be leading the group, were dressed in outrageous purple and gold robes. If it weren't such an insult to her late mentor, Helena would compare it to something Dumbledore could wear. The magicians were identical, so twins, with their eyes close-set and their limbs thin and long. Along with their tall frame, they looked kind of ghastly. They were clearly human, but no-one would describe them as looking ordinary.

As the twins stopped a half dozen metres front of Helena, their eyes raked first over Godric and then her body. She had to suppress a shiver as she completely and utterly violated by the action. Glancing to her left to see Angela’s reaction to the twins, she saw only empty space; it wasn’t surprising as Angela had warned that she could only help so much (which she had when she had stopped the patrol). Helena’s emerald eyes set on the twins. Her face hardened, and mood soured; these were the men the Varden sent to test a possible ally. Godric tensed up as well.

“None of that now!” the twin to the right ordered. It came out as a sharp bark and held an undertone Helena had only heard in one other person (and Helena used the term loosely); Dolores Umbridge. Her mood soured further. “Disarm and slide your sword to the soldiers.”

“What? Why?” Helena asked, perplexed, her hand going to her sword. Immediately the tunnel was filled with the sounds of twenty-something blades being drawn. The rest withdrew their bows and knocked an arrow. “I’m a Rider. If I wanted to hurt you, do you honestly believe I would need this?” The last part was said with a small motion toward the Sword of Gryffindor.

“Try anything with magic, and you will lie dead before the spell has left your lips,” the twin to the left threatened. “We are more powerful than you.”

“That remains to be seen,” Helena’s eyes narrowed. “I come here in peace, seeking the Varden to fight against Galbatorix, and this is the greeting I get? If I were as hostile and suspicious as you, we would not even have this conversation. Do you train all your soldiers to fire first and ask questions later?”

“What? Who fired on you?” a dwarf asked and stepped forward. The twins shot severely annoyed looks to the dwarf but didn’t intervene. “I asked you a question, human! Or do you come with unfounded accusations!?”

Helena was beginning to regret coming to the Varden.

“Watch your tone,” Helena bit back. The dwarf openly bristled at that. Helena’s eyes had moved across the soldiers before she found the one who had fired at her. It was the one only just out of adolescence, only a year or two older than herself. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he gulped but stepped forward.

“It was me,” the boy soldier said with a shaky voice. “I-I am sorry. I saw the dragon and panicked.”

The dwarf harrumphed and turned back to Helena. However, as he opened his mouth to speak to her, he was cut off by the twins.

“The actions of the Varden are not the ones under question,” the left twin said acidly. “You arrived on our front step unannounced, with a dragon of a different colour than the one we had stolen. You are either the Black King’s Rider, or you are a liar.”

“Well, if those are the only options then I am an enemy no matter what. How convenient for you,” Helena answered sarcastically. “You test my patience. What is it you want?”

Something gleamed in the twins’ eyes and both Helena and Godric tensed.

“You will open your mind to us,” the right twin told her as if there wasn’t even a choice. “You will let us inspect your thoughts and memories. We will establish how you got your dragon, and whether or not your loyalties lie with Galbatorix.”

Helena looked blandly from one twin to the other. And then she laughed. She honest to gods broke out laughing. She blamed the state her mind was in after such long time underground.

“Oh, really, is that all?” Helena managed to wheeze out. “Do you also want my deepest darkest secrets in the process? How about my True Name?” Helena got her breathing out of control and then looked deadly serious at the twins. “That is not going to happen.”

The twins did not look happy, and the one to the right grit his teeth.

“Resist, and we will take what we want with force! Resist, and it will drive you to insanity!” One of them threatened. Godric was not able to stop himself anymore, and he growled, loudly, once again.

“You are most welcome to try,” Helena told them coldly as Godric’s growling died down. “Other more skilled, more frightening beings have tried and failed. My mind is my sanctuary and is shared with very few select persons.” One of the twins was about to retort when Helena cut him off with a raised hand, “However, I know the position you are in, and I am more than willing to swear in the Ancient Language that I do not seek to harm the Varden. I am even willing to negotiate what I should swear.”

“That's not sufficient,” the left twin spat out. “You either bare your mind to us, or you will not gain access to Farthen Dûr.”

“And that is for you to decide?” Helena challenged. “Only you?”

“You have heard the conditions!”

Helena’s eyes flashed. “And you have heard my offer! There is no chance in hell that you will get access to my mind! I would rather lick the Oath-Breakers hairy arse than let anyone so untowardly into my mind! Try to access my mind, and I warn you; I will not hesitate to retaliate!”

When no-one moved but the twins only stood quietly glaring at her, Helena threw her hands in the air.

“You know what? Fuck this. You can all bugger off, I’m getting out of here,” Helena said and turned to leave.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” one of the twins said. “You know the location of Farthen Dûr, and that cannot be allowed to fall into Galbatorix’s hands.”

That’s when Helena felt it. A slimy cold approached, poking and trying to pierce her mind. That’s when she lost it. Before she might have been severely annoyed with the twins and the Varden, but she didn’t kid around when it came to the sanctity that was her mind.

“I said **_NO!_** ” Helena roared as she spun around to face the twins again, her Occlumency barriers coming into place around her and Godric as she did. At the startled look of the left twin, it was clear that it was he who had tried to access her mind. Narrowing her eyes, she dug into her magic and motioned towards him. A half yelp, half screech came from him as he was picked up and hurled over the soldiers.

And then all hell broke loose.

A battle roar erupted from the soldiers as they charged and let arrows loose. Godric met their roar with his own, making it feel like an earthquake was taking place. No time to think, Helena raised her marked hand and dispatched of the arrows in the same manner that she had dispatched of the first one some thirty-odd minutes earlier. The glare of the ruby flames caused the soldiers to slow down to shield themselves, which gave Helena enough time to brandish the Sword of Gryffindor and get into her stance. A moment later Godric shot forward almost causing her to fall off her feet.

‘ _Don’t kill them!’_ Helena frantically warned her partner. From the deep growls coming from Godric and the screams of terror emanating from the soldiers she almost feared that Godric hadn’t heard her, but then a feeling of acknowledgement flowed through their bond. That was a relief; this was far from optimal, but she didn’t blame the Varden soldiers for defending their home.

Any other thoughts she might’ve had was pushed to the back of her mind to make room for instincts, as the flames died down and soldiers charged around Godric and towards her. Helena narrowed her eyes and met them head-on.

Helena parried the first strike which went for her flank. She met the eyes of the soldier who had attacked her and was surprised by the utter terror in them. But she couldn’t let that affect her; it was either them or her. So, she narrowed her eyes, raised her leg, and kicked as hard as she could. The soldier stumbled back but was quickly replaced by half a dozen more. Helena raised her left hand again and let the magic flow.

It was instincts and not incantations which directed her magic; the swords of three soldiers to the right began to glow as they heated up and melted. They yelped and cursed as globs of molten steel spattered onto their armour heating that as well, and they got busy trying to get it off. The remaining soldiers continued their charge and Helena met them. Parrying both with sword and magic, Helena managed to disarm one of them before another got through her defence. Without any armour to speak of herself, the blade sliced through her blouse and cut into the flesh of her back. She yelped in pain, and Godric roared, renewing his attacks. Helena narrowed her eyes and turned around, the air around her cooling significantly. She breathed in deeply and let it out a moment later at the soldier; a wild cold wind blew him back, creating ice and ice spikes in a long cone out from Helena. The soldier was blown against the wall and frozen against it, his lips now a dark blue. Helena only took a moment to make sure he was still breathing.

There were a twang and a sizzle, and Helena spun around again and caught three arrows in the air several feet away from her. Motioning with her hand, she sent them back towards the archers with extra force. One of the archers was hit in the shoulder, but the other archer she had aimed after dodged; the arrows continued onwards and were embedded halfway into the stone wall.

A large crack then rung out over the battle, and Godric roared again. This time, however, it was in pain. Feeling through their link Helena was shocked to feel the pain coming from his left wing; the main bone had been broken. Of course, that’s when the soldiers decided to resume their attack on her. Now Helena was mad, however, and she flung her magic out. The last three soldiers screamed as they were thrown like one of the twins had been at the beginning of the battle. In the small reprieve she had received Helena looked over at her partner and saw how his wing was sticking the wrong way. She immediately knew that no soldier was capable of doing that; that was further proved when, as she watched him, his other wing snapped back in a similar manner.

Godric roared again. Through their link, Helena felt his immense pain. He didn’t let in, however, fuelling his pain into his attacks. He spun his whole body around, quite an accomplishment with a body his size and the size of the tunnel, and his tail swiped a handful of soldiers off of their feet and into their comrades. He then raised his tail before slamming it down, causing at least a soldier’s to break some bones. However, Godric had also exposed his tail, and the soldier took advantage of that, trying to cut and slice the tail. And like that, Godric against spun around, pouncing like the cat Helena had compared him to so often.

Helena filled with rage, and her eyes swam across the tunnel. She found who was responsible for Godric’s wings easy enough, their outlandish robes standing out against the muted colours of the rock tunnel and armoured soldiers. Charging against them, a few soldiers tried to get in her way. She dodged and jumped, creating fire, frost, and force from her magic to push them out of her way. With the commotion she was creating, it was no wonder that the twins noticed her. That was good; if their attention was on her, then they were not casting another magical attack on Godric. They stood side by side and glared at her, and that’s when she felt pressure on her Occlumency barriers. Their mouths moved rapidly and didn’t take a genius to guess they were trying to cast another spell.

Helena couldn’t help but feel miffed that they were ignoring the untold rules of magical combat in Alagaësia, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made her when she was throwing spells left and right. The thing was, she was inherently exempt from the magic of Alagaësia.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Helena grit out in anger. Raising her marked hand, she uttered her first incantation of the battle, an incantation which she was sure would prove fatal to the twin’s abilities to participate magically. “Silencio!”

The look on the twins’ faces was almost comically. Their mouths continued to move for a few moments more, and that’s when they must’ve realised that no sound was exiting their mouths. And if no sound was exiting, that meant they couldn’t speak the Ancient Language, which meant that they were effectively cut off from using magic. Helena smirked dangerously, and they saw. They paled dramatically, giving them an even more inhuman look. They almost looked like inferi.

Helena made a wild motion with her marked hand again flinging one of the twins into the wall only a few feet behind him, either dazing him or knocking him outright cold. Helena couldn’t tell. And then she focused on the other twin who looked horrified at his twin before looking back at Helena. He turned around and started to flee down the tunnel.

Still feeling the pain coming through the link from Godric, Helena knew she wouldn’t let him escape. Merlin, she wanted to hurt him, but she wouldn’t stoop to that. Fortunately, there was more than one way to punish people when it came to magic; she dug into her magic, let it flow through her whole being, and armed with her imagination and intent, she cast it through the tunnel to converge on the remaining conscious twin.

At first nothing happened. The twin was still running down the length of the tunnel. And then he stumbled. He began screaming as his body contorted, and the surrounding soldiers stopped to look. They stared with a horrified fascination as the twin’s body stretched and distorted before shrinking. Soon the twin was lost in the depths of his clothes, and just as the soldiers must’ve thought that she had vanished him, a high-pitched squeaking began. Then, out of the bundle of gold and purple robes that lay on the tunnel floor, shot a ferret at such speeds that one must think its arse must be on fire. Helena smirked.

Looking around the tunnel, it was clear that she and Godric were winning. However, their goal here wasn’t to win; she might’ve made a big deal of telling them all to bugger to hell, but it would still be most optimal to work with the Varden – if not for anything then for meeting up with Eragon again. And even if they were winning, they hadn’t come through unscathed; Helena could feel a lot of blood on her back and was sure her blouse was soaked, and Godric’s wings were broken, and he had a lot of scrapes and cuts on his body – even one across his snout. Of the soldiers, only a dozen was still standing and fighting. It needed to stop.

Digging into her magic one more time, Helena raised her hand and cried out, “Immobulus!”

A loud bang sounded, and a ruby shockwave raced through the tunnel. Everyone, including Godric, was frozen. Their eyes still flickered around, and she could see the rising panic in the soldiers as they realised their position. A part of Helena felt kind of silly for simply not using this from the beginning, but she had let her temper get the better of her. She had _wanted_ to fight. Moronic was what that was; it was what got people killed.

“I’m going to repeat myself,” Helena said clearly, her voice ringing out over the tunnel. “I do _not_ seek to make an enemy of the Varden. My enemy is Galbatorix and the tyranny he holds over man. My enemy is the Oath-Breaker who slaughtered an Order of Peace and ushered in an era of bloodshed! _My enemy is not you!_ But I will not hesitate to fight back if I am attacked or violated!”

Helena waved her hand and the Freezing Charm was released. Godric was the only one who was braced for it because of his link to her; the rest stumbled and fell. Thankfully, no-one continued the fight.

“Like I told the twins, I understand the position you are in,” the witch-turned-Dragon Rider continued as she looked over the soldiers. “I am not asking to be let into Farthen Dûr without being tested. I understand that I need to prove myself to be granted that privilege. I am still not willing to share my mind, my sacred space, with anyone who has not proven their trust to _me_. But I am ready to work with you to construct an oath in the Ancient Language so that you are comfortable in knowing that I am not here on the Black King’s orders and that I am not here to destroy the Varden or the Dwarven sovereignty.”

Helena looks over the still-standing soldiers. Thirteen were left of some thirty-odd, most of them having been taken down by Godric. One of the twins was slumped unconscious against the tunnel wall, while a screeching ferret ran around the tunnel which no-one gave attention to. Ten humans and three dwarves were standing, and they were glancing nervously around at each other probably trying who had rank to speak to her. Godric slowly and painfully moved back to stand by Helena, and she shot him a worried look. As soon as she would get the opportunity, she would need to heal him.

‘ _Not before you take care of yourself,’_ came Godric’s answer leaving no room for argument, echoing what he had said after the Ra’zac ambush. Despite herself, a fond smile appeared on her lips as she neither gave in or challenged Godric on the issue.

“This needs to be brought to Ajihad,” one of the Varden soldiers finally spoke up. It was a dwarf. He looked at her wearily – understandable as they had just gotten their arses kicked by her and Godric. “I cannot give you any promise of anything. And before Ajihad has judged the situation, you cannot enter Farthen Dûr.”

“I am willing to wait,” Helena told the dwarf evenly. As the adrenaline left her system, it was getting harder and harder to keep up the calm front. Her back hurt. Perhaps she wouldn’t challenge Godric’s proclamation.

The dwarf shook his head, “Not here, but... Would you be willing to follow us to a nearby room? It is large enough for the dragon-.”

“Godric,” Helena cut the dwarf off sternly. “His name is Godric.”

The dwarf gulped but inclined his head. “The room is large enough for Godric to be comfortable in. It will not be a speedy process because what happened here is not something that will go over easy. But as long as your fates are undecided, the Varden will provide food, water, and a blanket.”

Helena looked at the dwarf for a few moments before glancing over at her partner. ‘ _What do you think?’_

‘ _I think it is the best we can ask for,’_ was Godric’s answer.

Helena nodded and let out a deep breath. “That is agreeable.”

The dwarf looked relieved, as did the remaining soldiers. “Thank you. Follow me if you would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, that was some chapter wasn’t it? A lot of you have been waiting for Helena to reach the Varden for a while, so I hope I didn’t disappoint. Truly, when I wrote the plan for this chapter, I had much more planned, but with the word-count and how long it has been since I’ve update I thought I would release the chapter as it is.  
> The reason it has taken so long is that I’ve written detailed plans for almost the rest of Book One. I still haven’t written a detailed plan for an event and the Battle of Farthen Dûr, but, again, because of the amount of time since I’ve updated, I thought it would be better to start writing the chapters I have plans for and then write the plans for the last few chapters after.  
> I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think there will be many chapters left of Book One. What I have written plans for is to chapter 20, but as this chapter proves, it might be broken up into smaller chapters. Still, if I keep writing at this speed, I hope to have them out by the end of July. Note, this is my ambition and hope, but by no means a promise.  
> Some news that some of you might have noticed: I have gotten a cover art for this story. It is made by the amazing Suzanne van Pelt, and I have links to her Instagram, website, and DeviantArt profile on my profile. There is a link to the painting on her Instagram account, and once the painting comes up on her DA account, I will also link to that. I am extremely happy about the painting, and really think it captures Helena.  
> Synthesis


	16. The King Under the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would you do me the favour of handing this letter to your king?” Helena asked in a clear voice. “It is my formal request for an audience.”  
> “What?” the dwarf asked dumbfounded, apparently not having expected that.  
> “What!?” one of the human guards repeated, his tone of voice a lot sharper.  
> Helena was unable to hide her annoyance and tsk’ed. “It is my request for an audience with King Hrothgar. Since the leaders of the Varden are clearly too busy to be bothered with my presence, it is my hope that the king will be more... agreeable.”  
> The dwarf didn’t answer right away. “You approached the Varden-.”  
> “And does King Hrothgar answer to the Varden?” Helena cut him off, raising an eyebrow. “Am I to understand that he has no pull in his own capital because of a human resistance group?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Giving a glance at the groaning and moaning soldiers that lay about in the tunnel and their comrades who were starting to tend to them, Helena fell into step behind the dwarf. Four of the remaining standing soldiers, in turn, fell in behind her, but by the looks on their faces, they knew that if she decided to do something, they wouldn’t be able to stop her. Regardless of that, Helena didn’t take her right hand off of the Sword of Gryffindor, and she left her left palm exposed as not to hinder her magic. It wasn’t as if she absolutely needed to focus her magic through her palm, as the previous battle has just proven, but it was much easier. It could kind of be compared to writing with the hand you were not dominant with; while one could train to make the writing look not only eligible but indeed beautiful, it just wasn’t seamless. But the point was that Helena was no fool, and she was not going to blindly trust an organisation which she had just fought (and won, the smug part of her couldn’t help but point out) against. If any of them made a hostile move towards her or Godric, she wouldn’t hesitate to lash out.

Despite the situation, and the pain both she and Godric was in, Helena looked curiously about as they were led away by the dwarf. These tunnels were a far cry from the tunnels they had entered almost a week prior. Apart from the damage she had done to them, they were pristine, not a single crack or imperfection in sight. The walls and floor were made of polished white stone, perhaps marble, which reflected a ghost image of everyone. Once upon a time, Helena would dismiss that anyone would use marble for the entirety of a structure, but Gringotts bank was just like that. The erisdar, the elven invented lanterns, weren’t burnt out here as they had been at the entrance to the tunnels and shone with a soft blue light (inadvertently, or perhaps deliberately, making the reflections look even more ghostly). No matter what one would think of the dwarves, one couldn’t deny that these tunnels were beautiful.

The dwarf led her and Godric to a large circular room. By itself, it was magnificent, with a couple of statues standing at the edge of the room forming a large square, and enormous columns rose into the air holding the weight of the mountain at bay. Compared to the quality of the tunnels, though, the room was rather nondescript. There was only one entrance, and Helena knew it wasn’t a coincidence that she and Godric had been led to this particular room.

“Please stay here while I inform Ajihad of... recent developments,” the dwarf requested of her. “Soldiers will be posted at the door, so if you have any questions, you can ask them. I will make sure food and a blanket are sent here promptly.”

“Very well,” Helena readily agreed, her back pulsing in pain and making it harder and harder to keep up her facade. And then after a moment, she told the dwarf, “You should be prepared that I am going to cast wards – protective magics – over the corner of the room, in Godric and I will be residing. They will not harm any of your people, but it will prevent them from approaching or attacking us.”

The dwarf looked conflicted but inclined his head slightly. “I appreciate the warning. I will inform the soldiers not to try anything.”

Helena nodded sharply. “See to it that you do.”

He apparently didn’t appreciate that finishing comment, but there were also a lot of things Helena didn’t appreciate about the whole situation, so she wasn’t overly concerned with that. As the dwarf turned and walked out of the room, the door already having two soldiers on each side, Helena didn’t take her eyes off of him. Once he was through the door, she moved to the opposite side of the room from the door where Godric was already lying, creating a distance of about a dozen metres between the soldiers and Helena and Godric. Unconcerned with the soldiers’ wide eyes, she raised several wards, which stayed in place as a light film of ruby light.

‘ _Helena-,’_ Godric began, but Helena cut him off.

“I know, I’ll heal myself first.” She shifted slightly and winced with a hiss. “Just this once, you will hear no arguments from me.” Slight amusement rolled through the connection from Godric, and Helena rolled his eyes at him.

If it hadn’t been for Muffliato Charm, she would’ve communicated over their connection. She merely preferred to speak verbally – old habits die hard and all that.

“Why is it that whenever I get injured, it is in a location which is so gods damned hard to reach?” Helena muttered to herself, as she twisted herself to be able to put her marked hand over the slash on her back. This, of course, only caused more pain. “Episkey.” Her back was filled with interchangeable extreme warm and intense cold sensations, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the wound close.

Not having to verbalise her intentions, Helena turned to Godric as he shifted his body so she could get to his injuries. Walking around the ruby dragon, her hand ghosting over his scales while making sure not to aggravate the injuries, Helena slowly felt a deep and seething hatred for the twins bubbling up inside of her. The twins weren’t the only ones to have injured her partner, sure, but apart from a slightly deep flesh wound here and there, the injuries Godric had sustained at the hands of the soldiers were somewhat superficial – dragon scales were no easy thing to cut through. The injuries the twins had caused, however, were grotesque and went above and beyond what was needed to incapacitate; the most grievous injuries they had caused, breaking Godric’s wings, hadn’t just dislocated bones from the sockets but had actually _shattered_ the sockets. Turning one of them into a ferret was too good for them.

‘ _Dear One, stop,’_ Godric’s voice brought Helena out of her fantasies of what she should’ve done to the twins. Her eyes met his. ‘ _Such thoughts do you no favours.’_

Helena’s jaw tightened. ‘ _You’re telling me that? You might be more mellow than Saphira, but you’re still a dragon and has advocated violence more times than I can count.’_

‘ _You said it yourself; I am a dragon,’_ Godric told her, bumping his snout against her shoulder. ‘ _While I might complain about your restraint and advocacy of peaceful yet complicated solutions, that is who you are.’_

‘ _I’m hoping you’re not calling me a pacifist,’_ Helena’s drawling reply came. ‘ _If you didn’t notice, a fair few of the injured soldiers in the tunnel lay there because of me.’_

Godric chuckled. ‘ _No, I’m not calling you a pacifist, far from it. If push comes to shove you have more than proved that you’re capable of shoving.’_ The ruby dragon paused. ‘ _Our definition of when that moment comes, when push comes to shove, differs wildly. I complain about it often, but I would not have it any other way. If I haven’t made it clear yet, I love you just the way you are, Dear One.’_

Helena’s eyes softened. ‘ _And I you, My Heart. And I can’t stand to see you hurt and injured. You know better than me that the twins did what they did to you with malicious intent. It isn’t even like it is because it took less energy to injure you like this – quite on the contrary.’_

Godric shifted and winced. ‘ _Indeed. And they should not get close to me if they value their life. But I do not like it when you advocate violence for violence sake.’_

 _‘Violence sake?’_ Helena shot back at Godric, visibly upset. ‘ _It wouldn’t be for violence sake. It would be for justice.’_

‘ _Was what you did to Bellatrix justice, Dear One?’_ Godric asked calmly. Helena winced at looked away. ‘ _Neither that case was nor would this case be for justice. It would be for revenge.’_

Helena took a deep breath but still refused to look Godric in the eyes. And then she began to chuckle. The ruby dragon sent emotions of curiosity through their link.

‘ _I’m imagining how the elves, or anyone who has experience with dragons for that matter, will react when they meet you.’_ Helena looked up again. She stroked Godric’s snout and jaw, and the ruby dragon leant into her hand. ‘ _If it weren't because I have seen just how ferocious you can be in battle I would doubt you were a dragon. You are altogether too calm.’_

Godric chuckled. ‘ _I blame you. You coddled me as a hatchling, and still do at times. Unlike the farmer’s boy, you actively taught me and guided me. My earliest memories that are my own are from such lessons.’_

‘ _Lessons, even? I thought they were rather informal.’_

 _‘The point stands,’_ Godric countered. He blew out of his nostrils, tousling Helena’s hair. ‘ _As for the twins... If it is any consolation, I think you put the fear of Salazar into their hearts.’_

Helena smirked. ‘ _They did look rather disturbed when I put the Silencing Charm on them.’_ Her smirk faltered as her eyes moved to Godric’s injuries again. ‘ _I would still like to slap them around a bit.’_

‘ _Well, that’s progress at least,’_ Godric teased. ‘ _At least you’re not fantasising about torturing them.’_

Helena tsked. ‘ _You prat,’_ she told him, shoving his head away from her hands. ‘ _Now, hold still.’_

Godric did as he was asked, and Helena got to work. She started healing the injuries the soldiers had given him; while numerous, they were (as she had pointed out) mostly superficial. Between Episkey, Waíse Heill, and Vulnera Sanentur the wounds only took a few seconds each, at most, to heal. However, as Helena went around Godric healing those wounds, her eyes kept flickering over to his wings bend at an off angle. It was customary to treat the more severe injuries to begin with, but the thing was... Helena wasn’t entirely sure how she should heal her partner’s wings.

The root of the problem lay with the brutality in the way they had been injured. As Helena had pointed out, the twins hadn’t merely dislocated the wings, nor even simply cleanly broken bones. No, the twins had shattered the area around the socket that connected the wings to Godric’s back, the most vulnerable place on the wings and the location most difficult to heal. To be able to fly without any problems, Godric needed the full mobility of the socket.

While Waíse Heill and Vulnera Sanentur weren’t used to heal broken bones, Episkey could be utilised in that manner. However, Helena had never heard of anyone using the spell on any bones larger than the ones in the toes, fingers, and nose. And, again, Godric’s wing sockets weren’t only broken, they were shattered.

Helena felt the hatred bubble up inside of her again but beat it down for Godric’s sake. For her own sake, she had no problem hating those bastards, but there were few things Godric could ask of her that she would deny him. Merlin, she really was coddling him, wasn’t she?

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider shook those thoughts out of her head as she finally made it to the left wing-socket. Putting her hand on the socket, making sure not to hurt Godric more than what was necessary, she closed her eyes and let her magic flow. She pulled and prodded at the bone fragments, trying to get a feeling for the wound. From Godric’s end of their link, she could feel how much he hurt, and she began to feel sick from the sensations. It was something she was going to bear; while she could distance her mind from Godric’s, she would rather maim herself rather than leave him to suffer alone.

She pulled her magic back into herself, and Godric let out a sigh of relief. Helena didn’t pay much attention, her mind trying to come up with a solution. Because of the socket being shattered, potions were out of the question (even if she knew that they would have the same effect on Godric as they would on a witch or wizard, and even if she had her bag). It would have to be healed by magic. The only problem, then, was that Helena knew no spells or healing charms which were able to repair such an injury, and while she had many books on healing magics, they were all in her bag.

Helena cursed herself in frustration. Why hadn’t she read more up on healing magics instead of just relying on Hermione during the war?

Again, Helena shook the thoughts from her head. The past was in the past, and beating herself up over something she hadn’t done wouldn’t help Godric.

The question was, then, what to do. As the Ruby Rider racked her brain for an answer – any answer, any solution – Godric stayed quiet. While a part of him was worried, he was mostly calm. He had faith in her, trust in that she would be able to heal him. That didn’t put any additional pressure on her, whatsoever (please note the sarcasm).

And then Helena’s eyes widened as a solution (a possible one, at least) presented itself in her mind’s eye. She looked over at the door and saw in her mind the tunnel they had come from, with all the soldiers groaning and moaning on the floor. Her mind went over the fight they had just been through, and in particular how she had directed her magic not with incantations but with pure intent. But it went deeper than intent; she hadn’t thought of ice forming, or fire or even force, she had _felt_ it, and it had happened because she willed it to do so. As she had fought, it was her instincts that had directed her powers to help her in the best ways they could in the moment.

Helena frowned the more she thought about it. She had never heard of magic being used like that. Nonverbal magic depended on the witch or wizard thinking the incantations in their mind, and accidental underage magic depended on the young witch or wizard seeing in their mind's eye what they wanted to happen. Never had she heard of magic being used on such an instinctual level where she had trouble explaining how it happened.

That would be a mystery to solve at a later time, however. What mattered was that she had a possible way to heal Godric. That said, as she had said many times, healing magics were right up there with transfiguration when it came to difficulty.

“Godric,” Helena said as way of questioning him.

An affirmative sound rumbled in the ruby dragon’s chest. ‘ _I trust you.’_

Helena laughed humourlessly. “This has nothing to do with trust. I don’t know if this will help or make it worse. I’m not even sure I’m _able_ to do it.”

‘ _I trust you,’_ Godric repeated. Helena’s stomach tied in knots; she couldn’t mess this up.

“Alright,” the Ruby Rider sighed. “I wish I could numb this, but you need to be able to feel this. You need to be able to tell me when something feels _wrong_.” ‘Wrong’ wasn’t the same as being in pain. Right now Godric was in pain because his sockets were shattered, but that was right under the circumstances – he _should_ feel pain when his sockets were shattered. She had no idea how untamed magic would affect the joint, so Godric needed to be aware.

‘ _I’m ready.’_

Helena nodded, took a deep breath, and put her marked hand on Godric’s joint again. As she had done before, Helena let her magic flow into the injury, getting a feel for all of the pieces and where they lay in relation to the other pieces. That was the easy part, getting to know the lay of the land so to speak. Now came the tricky part; causing a change (and hopefully a good one).

Pulling on all the training she had done at Hogwarts throughout her schooling, Helena filled her magic with intent. While she might not be able to draw on her instincts as Godric could, she could pull on her intent. So Helena willed the magic to work with the pieces it was touching, healing and mending it. She visualised Godric whole and healthy again, able to fly among the clouds, roaring like the King of the Skies that he was. She pulled the emotions that evoked in her and put it together with the intent and pushed that into the magic in Godric’s socket.

Beads of sweat began forming on Helena’s brow, and nothing much was happening. And then there was movement, shock and pain running through Godric the moment it occurred. It was only Helena’s training that prevented her from losing her focus. It was a slow process, the pieces of bone moving and tearing through flesh, blood, and vessels, the magic healing the damage the bones were causing. Slowly but gradually the fragments came together and fused, nerves reattached to each other, and a last a large ‘pop’ sounded as the healed bone popped back into the socket.

Helena dropped to the floor, managing to break some of the fall with her hands. She gasped for breath, shocked at how much energy that had taken. She was far from being magically exhausted, but more than the energy, it was the sheer amount of will and concentration she had had to pull from within herself. But had she done it?

‘ _Godric?’_ Helena asked through their link, her lungs too occupied with rapidly drawing in and pushing out air for her to be able to speak.

Hesitant and still reeling from the pain, Godric slowly moved his wing about. He was still sore, but that was to be expected after popping in a dislocated bone. But he was able to move his wing in all directions, no pain shooting up his spine, no limited or restricted movement. Helena grinned in relief.

‘ _Alright, just... give me a few minutes, and I’ll get to the other one,’_ Helena told her partner.

‘ _Dear One, it can wait,’_ Godric told her in worry.

‘ _It can’t,’_ Helena refuted. ‘ _The longer an injury stays untreated, the higher the risk of untreatable complications. Even when it comes to magic, there are limitations.’_

The worry didn’t lessen in Godric. ‘ _Then I am at least going to try and help you.’_

‘ _Well, I’m not going to say no to that.’_ Helena shot him a weak smile. ‘ _While I might be able to heal you like this, let us not make a habit of it, alright? You’ll try not to get this grievously injured, and I’ll try – somehow – to learn healing magics to heal such injuries.’_

‘ _Prepare for the worst and hope for the best?’_

Helena snorted. ‘ _More like prepare for the worst and punch anyone in the throat before they can cause ‘the worst’’._ The witch-turned-Dragon Rider took in a deep settling breath. ‘ _Alright, let’s try and get this over with.’_

~ BWaC ~

“I’m sorry, we haven’t heard any news yet,” the human soldier told her in a meek voice. Ok, so she might’ve been a bit harsh on the poor bloke the last time she had asked for news, but it had been _two days_. Under normal circumstances, Helena’s temper wasn’t something to be trifled with. Under these circumstances? After Godric was injured as he had been? One would be safer playing with matches in a fireworks factory.

The soldier braced himself as Helena’s jaw tightened. She managed to take a deep breath instead, however, pinching the bridge of her nose. She opened her mouth to say something but shut it close immediately after and spun around and stomped back to Godric.

In the two days they had been in the room, they had been treated well enough. Even before Helena had exploded on the poor guard, they had kept their distance. They were curious, she could see that, but they were also fearful. By now, rumours of the battle in the tunnel must’ve spread far and wide. Add that to the vast half-dome of ethereal ruby light covering half the room Helena was being kept in, perhaps it was understandable.

‘Well enough’ was not ‘good’, however. The food Helena had been served was only barely sufficient to keep her fed, but never satisfied. Godric hadn’t gotten anything to eat at all. The blanket was not nearly enough to warm her up, so she slept as a wolf (another thing that had caused a stir with the guards). And she wouldn’t even get started on the bathroom arrangements; in the half-year and then some she had been in Alagaësia, she had learned to live with the sub-par (mostly, complete lack of) toilets, but still...

“I feel like I’m going around the bend here!” Helena complained loudly once she had passed through her wards, hiding her words from the guards. “Honestly! They have a Rider and a dragon at the gates, a Rider who has already shown an amazing amount of restraint, and what do they do? They leave them with barely enough to eat – nothing for the dragon –, a ragged blanket which wouldn’t be able to keep you warm in Marseille!”

Godric grunted in response but left it at that. It was just as well; there wasn’t anything he could do to make the situation better. Merlin, she hated politics – because, yes, she was damned sure it was politics which took the leaders of the Varden so long. Or she should rephrase; it had better only be politics and not some misdirected form of punishment to have kept her here so long.

Feeling herself getting too worked up, Helena tried to take a deep settling breath. Sitting down by Godric, she folded her hands and tried to focus on her breathing. It wasn’t meditating, and anyone who knew Helena would laugh out loud if someone suggested it. Helena didn’t do well with doing nothing, which was what she perceived meditating to be. She could sit still for hours on end if she had something to preoccupy her mind, be it a good story, homework, or even practising her occlumency. But she did need _some_ form of action, whether physical or mental.

“The dwarves!” Helena suddenly exclaimed, her eyes opening wide.

‘ _What?’_ Godric asked, annoyed, having slumbered off.

“Where exactly are we?” Helena asked her partner rhetorically. “We are at the dwarven capital. The Varden might have set up shop here, but in the end, it must still be the dwarven monarch who calls the shots around here.”

Godric’s mind considered her unsaid suggestion, and slowly mirth flowed through their link from his end.

‘ _It would severely annoy the humans,’_ Godric told her, unashamedly arbitrary to the humans’ reaction.

“Which I might’ve been hesitant to cause before we were shut in here for two days straight with no information,” Helena smirked. “But I won’t do anything if you think it’s a bad idea.”

‘ _Even if you request an audience with the dwarven king, there is no guarantee that he would see you,’_ the ruby dragon pointed out. ‘ _There is some pretty bad blood between dwarves and dragons, and by association, also between dwarves and Riders. But it is better than doing nothing.’_

Helena nodded decisively. Sitting down again, legs crossed, the witch-turned-Dragon Rider motioned with her hand and conjured a piece of parchment, a pen, and an inkwell. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the soldiers jump at her use of magic, as they did each and every time. She paid notice to that a dwarf had joined her guard, which worked remarkably well with her plan. But first she would have to write the letter, and it couldn’t exactly be ‘Rider here, I’m awesome and strong, and I beat your guys with a flick of my wrist, grant me an audience or feel my wrath’-type of letter. No, she would have to be respectful and write with her best penmanship. So, biting her lower lip lightly as she was want to do when she concentrated, she began writing.

For a letter she would ordinarily either use real parchment and ink or transfigure something into it; conjured items only lasted for so long, no matter how much magic you poured into the conjuration. There was a law that described it, but Helena couldn’t remember it for the life of her. The gist was, however, that while a witch or wizard could pour enough magic into a conjuration for the conjured item to last about forty-eight hours, any additional magic poured into the spell would simply be wasted. Now, there wasn’t a law that prevented conjuring letters, but it was considered good manners; that way, the recipient could keep the letter for any and all future use.

It took a few minutes, but as she leant back and looked it over (careful not to smear the ink), Helena thought it the best she could do. While she had a tiny bit of knowledge of politics, she had never requested an audience with a monarch of any kind. The letter read:

_To His Most Revered Excellency, King Hrothgar of the Dwarven Kingdom,_

_I, Lady Helichrysa Euphemia Potter, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, The-Girl-Who-Lived, Champion of House Gryffindor, Triwizard Champion, Member of the Order of the Phoenix, Leader of the Defence Association, The Chosen One, The-Woman-Who-Conquered, The-Girl-Who-Lived-To-Conquered, Dragon Rider, and Godric, dragon, request an audience in His Grace’s presence._

_We regret the manner in which we arrived at the gates of your capital, but we did our best to show restraint in spite of being disrespected so thoroughly. Your men and the men of your ally did you both justice by defending your city with their lives._

_We hope to hear a response to our request in a more timely manner than in which the Varden has shown us._

_Cordially,_

_Lady Helichrysa Euphemia Potter._

 

Yeah, she was pushing it with all of the titles. Some she hadn’t even been officially granted, like ‘Champion of House Gryffindor’; that said, she _had_ retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat, and Dumbledore had said that the Sword would only present itself to a person it deemed worthy. But politics were all but smoke and mirrors, and while King Hrothgar wouldn’t recognise any of the Houses mentioned or grasp the importance of the majority of the titles, that she even _had_ titles revealed her to be someone important. Well, more important than simply being a Dragon Rider, and that was what she hoped to be in the dwarven king’s eyes. She needed to be something more than just a Dragon Rider if she wanted to get past the bad blood.

“What do you think, My Heart?” Helena turned to Godric.

‘ _... I thought I made it clear after you asked about the size of the docks,’_ Godric deadpanned. ‘ _I’m a dragon. I like the ‘Rider here, I’m awesome and strong and beat your guys with a flick of my wrist, grant me an audience or feel my wrath’-type of letter you considered before.’_

Helena rolled her eyes.

Making sure the ink had dried, Helena folded the letter twice before conjuring a wax seal featuring the Potter family crest. The crest had changed a lot over the years, but the latest reinvention, created by her great-grandfather, featured a hippogriff with its wings spread wide. Given the form of her patronus, Helena felt a rather strong connection to it. Hippogriffs were proud, volatile, dangerous, and noble. Without sounding conceited, Helena possessed the same qualities and was unashamed in the fact. If somebody didn’t like who she was, they could bugger off and stuff their opinion so far up their arse that it tickled their tonsils.

Getting up, Helena let her eyes glide over the guards before they settled on the dwarf. The dwarf noticed, his eyes widening slightly; he got a hold of himself, however, and stood at attention again, his large hand grasping his axe. Without further ado, the witch-turned-Dragon Rider exited her wards and walked across the room with sharp steps. She stopped before the dwarf.

“Would you do me the favour of handing this letter to your king?” Helena asked in a clear voice. “It is my formal request for an audience.”

“What?” the dwarf asked, dumbfounded, apparently not having expected that.

“What!?” one of the human guards repeated, his tone of voice a lot sharper.

Helena was unable to hide her annoyance and tsk’ed. “It is my request for an audience with King Hrothgar. Since the leaders of the Varden are clearly too busy to be bothered with my presence, it is my hope that the king will be more... agreeable.”

The dwarf didn’t answer right away. “You approached the Varden-.”

“And does King Hrothgar answer to the Varden?” Helena cut him off, raising an eyebrow. “Am I to understand that he has no pull in his own capital because of a human resistance group?”

“Watch your tongue, Rider!” the dwarf barked back at her. She fought down a smirk, having gotten the reaction she wanted. “Keep waggling it like that, and I will show you just how much pull His Majesty has!”

Typically such a threat would have Godric growling like mad, but currently he was following her train of thoughts and knew what she wanted to do. That isn’t to say that the ruby dragon wouldn’t remember the dwarf’s face and keep an eye on the stout warrior from now on, but he wasn’t so bound to his instincts that he couldn’t hide behind a facade.

“I am demanding nothing of your king; this is merely a request,” Helena continued, unfazed by the threat. “If he wishes to, he can rip the request to pieces, dip it in faeces, and throw it into a fire. All I ask is that he has a chance to accept or deny my request.”

The dwarf’s face was still hard as stone, his eyes unwavering as they met hers. Helena would have to give him some credit for that; most of the soldiers that had been guarding her (or ‘protecting’ her as they insisted) couldn’t meet her eyes for more than a few seconds before their nerves got to them. Perhaps it was a quality that the dwarves possessed. Merlin, she could only hope so – it would indeed be a nice change of pace.

“Very well, then-.”

“You can’t be serious!” one of the human guards exclaimed. “She is to wait on Ajihad!”

Helena was cackling on the inside even as she kept up her passive facade. He couldn’t have walked into that setup even if she had used the imperius. Game, set, and match!

“Hand me the letter, Argetlam,” the dwarf told Helena, staring straight into the human soldier’s eyes. “I will make sure His Majesty sees it.”

“That is all I ask.” Helena handed him the letter, inclining her head in thanks. As the dwarf turned about and walked out of the room, adamantly ignoring the humans, Helena caught one of the guards’ eyes. She couldn’t help it; a broad grin spread across her face. The humans then quickly glanced at each other and nodded, and one of them exited after the dwarf.

‘ _You know, you’re kind of a bully sometimes,’_ Godric told her as she walked through the wards again.

‘ _I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t work so well,’_ Helena responded chipperly, overly satisfied with her performance.

‘ _This is why the Sorting Hat thought you would do well in Slytherin,’_ came the drawling reply. Helena didn’t deny him; he was correct in his assessment. Years ago, that might have bothered her, but as she had made clear many times now, she wasn’t ashamed who she was. That included the part of her that the Sorting Hat had seen that September First, eight years earlier.

Not thirty minutes later did Helena startle as the doors to the room is swung open, and in walked a small regiment of dwarven soldiers. What really caught Helena’s attention was their armour; while still mainly made of what Helena judged to be steel, the armours were lined with golden and silver lines. They stood at attention in two long rows and then slammed the bottom of their axes into the stone floor with a crash. A moment later an unarmoured dwarf dressed in beautiful clothing walked down the way between the two lines of soldiers.

“Lady Potter?” the dwarf asked for her in a clear voice.

Helena, realising she had been slightly stumped by the display (which was probably the meaning of it), blinked and jumped up. With a wave of her hand the wards disintegrated. With Godric at her back, she walked to the dwarf.

“I am she,” she told him evenly.

The dwarf looked her up and down, barely even sparing Godric a glance. “King Hrothgar will see you now. Follow me, and don’t try anything. The soldiers will put you down before you so much as even breathe a hostile word.” Before Helena could reply, the dwarf spun around and walked determinedly out of the room.

‘ _Well,’_ Helena commented to Godric. ‘ _It’s a better response than I had expected.’_

Godric merely grunted in response and then nudged her forward.

Helena and Godric followed the dwarf (who Helena speculated might be a court page or a sort) in silence for a few minutes. While being on high alert, aware that they might be walking into (even more) hostile territory, Helena’s attention also turned to the tunnels again. Given that the tunnels the fight with the twins had been in were made of pure marble, she hadn’t thought that they could turn even more extravagant. She was proven wrong as the closer they got to the entrance to Farthen Dûr, the more spectacular the tunnels became. When they finally stopped before doors not much unlike the one she and Godric had entered the Dwarven tunnels in the first place, it was getting kind of ridiculous.

The tunnel was still made of marble, but the doors were made of a pitch black mineral creating a stark contrast. A crest was depicted on the door by way of shimmering silver lines, forming a seven-pointed crown. Pillars lined the sides of the tunnel, laced with rubies and amethysts, and a golden tracery gleamed from the pillar’s base to their top like molten thread. Arching over the ceiling were carven raven heads, their beaks open in mid-screech. Scores of lanterns hung between the pillars, suffusing the air with liquid brilliance.

‘ _Godric?’_

‘ _Yes, Dear One?’_

‘ _I think I’ve discovered a race that is even more extravagant in their decorating than the goblins.’_

That caused Godric to snort. A few of their dwarven guards jumped at the sound but made no further moves when Godric didn’t.

‘ _You haven’t seen a goblin city, though,’_ Godric pointed out. ‘ _They might be just as extravagant.’_

‘ _My Heart, this is an **entrance** , and they have got the pillars laced with bleeding gold.’_

The royal page turned around and face Helena, cutting off whatever Godric was about to respond with.

“You are about to enter Farthen Dûr, Rider – ‘Our Father’ in the dwarven tongue,” the dwarf told her so haughtily that she was surprised that he didn’t trip over his own words. “You will not slow down for anyone. You will not speak to anyone. You will stay grounded.”

Again, the dwarf turned around and proceeded before Helena could respond. Irritation and annoyance filled her, but she swallowed down her pride (‘ _A bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?’, ‘Bite me, Godric.’)_ and followed the dwarf’s orders.

A moment later, as the doors swung open, Helena decided that she would’ve swallowed down her pride many times over if she knew that the sight before her had awaited. Gaping, she looked over an enormous volcanic crater, so vast that she wasn’t able to see the opposite end in detail. Mist and cloud hid it, and as Helena looked about, she could only conclude that the mountain had its own weather system. Many dozen miles up, the walls narrowed to a small ragged opening, which left a slim (compared to the size of the crater) beam of sunlight in. It illuminated a small circle but left the rest of the giant cavern in muted darkness.

The path before them was directed by a road of cobblestone extending from the threshold of the doorway. That surprised Helena, as it was the first she had seen of cobblestone in Alagaësia, both Dras-Leona and Teirm merely having dirt streets. The path was hard to follow as it snaked its way about the crater, framed by dark mats of moss and lichen-covered rocks. It didn’t take a genius to guess where it ended, however; in the middle of the crater stood a snowy-white mountain that glittered like an ice sculpture in the hushed twilight. Suddenly it wasn’t so hard to guess why the dwarves had coated the surrounding tunnels with marble when they had a near-mile high mountain of it.

“Feast your eyes on the home of the dwarven king, Rider; Tronjheim,” the dwarf said, his back still turned towards her. “None of your Order has set eyes on the city-mountain for nearly a century.” He didn’t sound overly displeased about that.

‘ _A city!’_ Godric exclaimed, and Helena shared his shock. They didn’t have time to enjoy the sight of the wonder, though, as the royal page began walking again.

‘ _He is surprisingly fast for having such short legs,’_ Helena joked with Godric. He was unamused and shot her a dead look. ‘ _What? That was funny.’_

As they walked the path down to Tronjheim, people stopped and stared. There were by no means many – understandable as it would be like people randomly walking about a mile outside of Hogsmeade – but there were enough. While a few of them were soldiers, the majority seemed to be civilians. She made sure to smile amicably at the few who caught her eye, but also made sure not to make a big deal about anything. The dwarven king had done her a favour by accepting her request, and it would be a considerable disservice done to him if she acted like she was a prisoner instead of a guest (even if the former was truer).

While the majority of the people that met them on the cobblestone path were human, many a dwarf also spotted her. The humans’ reactions to her were a mix of awe and hope. The dwarves’ reaction was a lot rougher; a fair few of them had the same responses as the humans had had, but even more spat at their feet, turned their backs on her (making sure she had spotted them before they did so), and cursed her in their sharp tongue. Helena didn’t take offence to it- alright, she did, but she didn’t blame the dwarves, as their experiences with dragons and the Old Order shaped their actions. What it told Helena was just how much of a chance King Hrothgar was taking by having an audience with her.

A yearning flowing through their link brought Helena’s thoughts to her partner, and she looked over at him to see him look wistfully into the air. His wings didn’t unfold, and if you didn’t know him, one wouldn’t think of it. Helena, however, knew him better than anyone and could see his wings twitching in place, and through her connection felt just how much focus it took the ruby dragon from setting off.

‘ _Soon, My Heart.’_

They neared the city-mountain, and a lot more details were revealed to Helena. The white marble was highly polished and shaped into flowing contours. It was dotted with many round windows framed by elaborate carvings, and a lantern hung in each window, casting a soft glow on the surrounding area. The gate was recessed about half a dozen meters into the base of Tronjheim and was guarded by two thirty-foot-tall gold gryphons. The small alcove-like space into the bottom of the city-mountain that the oaken gates caused were decorated like the tunnels had been: the walls were lined with fluted pillars of blood-red jasper, and between the pillars hulked statues of creatures, some of which Helena recognised, some of which she didn’t.

They didn’t waste any more time than necessary in front of the massive gate, and it soon rumbled as hidden mechanisms slowly raised it and revealed a long, enormous hallway extending straight towards the centre of Tronjheim. The top three levels were pierced by rows of archways that showed grey tunnels curving off into the distance. By now, word of her arrival had spread, and a few clumps of people – humans as well as dwarves – could be seen peeking down at her and Godric. The same archways were present on the ground level, but they were barred shut by doors not dissimilar to the one which had marked the entrance into Farthen Dûr. Rich tapestries hung between the doors, hanging from the ceiling and just barely touching the floor. They were embroidered with heroic figures, tumultuous battle scenes, and surprisingly mundane moments.

Unexpectedly, Helena was hit by a harsh wave of homesickness. Tronjheim might be far more elaborate, but it reminded her so much of Hogwarts that she was thrown for a loop. It was kind of telling that the dwarven capital reminded her far more of her home than any of the human settlements she had been in so far.

Helena beat the thoughts down as they served no purpose for the moment, following the court page while throwing the odd friendly smile up at the residents of the city-mountain here and there. The hallway kept going and going, and Helena wouldn’t be surprised if it were well over a mile long. It finally ended in an arch flanked by black onyx pillars, decorated with yellow zircons twice the size of cantaloupes, and opened into a giant room.

The room was a nexus for four hallways — including the one they had just exited — that divided Tronjheim into quarters. The halls were identical except for the one opposite Helena. To the right and left of that hall were tall arches that opened to descending stairs, which mirrored each other as they curved underground. The floor was covered by a dim red stone, on which a hammer surrounded by twelve stars was engraved.

A frown decorated Helena’s face as she spotted flickering lights on the floor reflecting off of something. Looking up, the witch-turned-Dragon Rider was frozen in awe. The ceiling was capped by a dawn-red star sapphire of monstrous size. The jewel was sixty feet across and nearly as thick. Its face had been carved to resemble a rose in full bloom, and so skilled was the craftsmanship, the flower almost seemed to be real. A broad belt of lanterns wrapped around the edge of the sapphire, which cast striated bands of blushing light over everything below. The flashing rays of the star within the gem made it appear as if a giant eye gazed down at them.

“By the Ancients,” Helena breathed out. The dwarves around her puffed out their chest in pride, as well as they should. This was a feat on a level with the likes of the Great Pyramids, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and the Temple of Artemis. This was a wonder in its prime.

“That is the Isidar Mithrim,” the court page told her, and for once she thought his tone appropriate.

“I have no words,” Helena admitted, looking at the page. “If my audience with your king is fruitless, having seen this sight would make it all worth it in spite of it.”

The dwarves around her looked pleased with her answer, which was a nice bonus. The statement, however, wasn’t uttered with a political agenda in mind; Helena in truth felt that way. Not to say it wouldn’t be right infuriating if the king only summoned them to turn them away, but this was a sight that would stay with her for the rest of her years.

“Rider!” a voice called out. Helena turned to see a human come running from one of the tunnels. The witch-turned-Dragon Rider glanced at her dwarven entourage to judge their reaction; they only looked annoyed, so this wasn’t just a civilian. The human ran up to her and the dwarves, a bit short of breath. “Rider, I am so glad I found you. I have a message from Ajihad; he is ready to receive you.”

It took Helena a few moments to register that, yes, the human page – and by extension Ajihad – actually had the audacity to cut off Helena as she was _on her way_ to see the dwarven king. And not only had the page done so, but he had done it in the most centrally located chamber of Tronjheim, where, by now, heaps of people were gathered to watch Helena and Godric. By the outrageous looks on her dwarven guards’ faces, they had grasped the severity of what the page had done, too.

Helena’s chin lifted slightly, and a small prideful smile graced her lips. In that moment she looked every part the Head of two Ancient and Most Noble Houses that she was.

“I’m afraid that you will have to return to Ajihad alone,” Helena told the human page evenly. Motioning her head to the dwarven page, whose face looked red as a ripe tomato due to anger, continued, “As you can see, I have a prior engagement.”

“But-,” the page started.

“I have given my answer,” Helena cut him off, leaving no room for argument. Turning her back on the human page, she faced Hrothgar’s own page. “While your city-mountain is a wonder I could spend many an hour admiring, I do believe it would be rude to have your king wait for much longer.”

The royal page looked between her and the human page, and then a smirk spread across his face. “Of course, Lady Potter. If you would follow me.” Unsurprisingly, his tone was suddenly a lot more pleasant. That was good to know; she might’ve made a lot of enemies within the Varden due to her pride, but it also seemed that it would help her win over some of the dwarves.

And so, Helena and Godric, following the dwarven page, left behind a gawking and pale human page, who now had to return to the leader of the Varden and tell him he had been refused. Helena’s political mind winced at the possible repercussions, but her prideful nature revelled in it after having been left in that room for two entire days.

Helena followed the dwarf down one of the two descending stairways. It gently curved inwards until they had to be walking almost directly below the great room they had just exited. The other stairwell merged with the one they were walking down to form a broad cascade of dimly lit steps. They ended after some thirty metres before two granite doors. The same hammer and stars that were engraved into the floor above were also carved into the door. She would have to remember to ask for its significance at a later time.

Even more dwarven guards stood outside of the doors, seven on each side. They held burnished mattocks and wore gem-encrusted belts. As Helena, Godric, and their entourage approached, the dwarves pounded the floor with the mattocks’ shaft just like the dwarves which were guarding Helena had done when they had picked her up. It caused a deep boom to roll back up the stairs, and slowly and groaningly the doors swung inwards.

“Our paths diverge here,” the royal page told her. And then he surprised her by inclining his head, just ever so slightly. “Argetlam.”

‘ _’Argetlam’,’_ Godric commented to her as if tasting the word. ‘ _The dwarf which delivered your request called you that as well. ‘Arget’ means silver in the Ancient Language, so what do you suppose it means?’_

‘ _Without insight into their culture, I wouldn’t be able to say,’_ was Helena’s answer. ‘ _But the fact that it is in the Ancient Language and not in the dwarven tongue makes me rather confident that it is some form of title or insult for Riders.’_

Helena and Godric walked forward and entered King Hrothgar’s throne room, the doors closing behind them. Well, ‘room’ might actually be giving it too much credit. It was, in fact, a natural cave, standing in stark contrast to all the pomp and ceremony the rest of Tronjheim and Farthen Dûr exuded. The cave was a good forty metres long, half that tall, and half again that wide. Unlike the manner in which tunnels had been carved, the walls, floor, and ceiling here didn’t meet at a right angle. In the middle of the room, a pathway of smooth and polished brown stone ran from the doors to the throne and was indeed as level as the tunnels. The rest of the throne room, however, had apparently been left untouched as it had been found. The walls were lined with stalagmites and stalactites, some thicker than the thigh of a giant. In between the stalagmites and stalactites rested giant statues, and after observing a few of them, Helena could only guess they depicted former dwarven kings and queens, each sitting on their own stone throne. Even if they weren’t monarchs, the fact that their names were inscribed below them proved them to be figures of importance. Helena noted with curiosity that they also used the Latin alphabet, or, as Eragon called them, runes. Sparsely hung erisdar cast a moody light.

Helena passed over forty statues, and many more empty thrones, as she and Godric walked down the length of the throne room, before the two of them stopped a respectful half dozen metres before Hrothgar at the end of the hall.

The dwarf king himself sat like a statue upon a raised throne carved from a single piece of black marble. It was blocky, unadorned, and cut with unyielding precision. It could not be pleasant to sit upon. A gold helmet lined with rubies and diamonds rested on Hrothgar's head in place of a crown. His visage was grim, weathered, and hewn of many years' experience.  Beneath a craggy brow glinted deep-set eyes, flinty and piercing. Over his powerful chest rippled a shirt of mail. His white beard was tucked under his belt, and in his lap, he held a mighty war hammer with the symbol that was also engraved on the doors and the floor above. On each side of Hrothgar stood twelve guards in a line, all eyeing Helena and Godric with suspicion.

Two things struck Helena. The first thing was that it said a lot about how the dwarves viewed their monarch and their responsibilities, that the throne room looked as it did in comparison to the rest of the city-mountain and mountain. The second thing was that if Hrothgar was as old as he looked, then he was old enough to remember the Riders of Old. That could be both a positive and negative thing. On the one hand, he must be able to recall the good that they could do. On the other hand, he also knew the danger they represented and possessed.

Helena was the first to speak with arms spread wide out, essentially exposing herself to all the dwarves in the room. It was a small act of good faith.

“I greet you King Hrothgar, oh King Under the Mountain,” Helena spoke up, her voice clear and ringing across the cavern. “I am Lady Helichrysa Euphemia Potter, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, The-Girl-Who-Lived, The-Woman-Who-Conquered, and Dragon Rider.” She left out all the other titles, sticking to the ones that actually defined her.

Godric stepped forward, and Helena saw Hrothgar still for a moment. She discovered why a moment later when the ruby dragon addressed the dwarven king directly.

‘ _I am Godric, partner to Lady Helena,’_ Godric presented himself, playing along with her political game and remembering her title.

Helena continued, “You have my most sincere gratitude for accepting my plea for an audience with you. I cannot truthfully state that I know the entire or the true tale of what has transpired between the Riders of Old and your people, but I have learned enough about my predecessors to know that the tenseness was not caused by one-sided goading. That I stand before you now, despite the opposition that you must be facing from without and within means a lot, and it is not something that will be forgotten. This I assure you.”

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider kept eye-contact with the Dwarven King. She wasn’t able to read Hrothgar’s face, but that wasn’t a surprise; he had to be a master of the political game. While she wasn’t able to read his face, she knew that his mind had to already be at work. Just as she was looking him over, he was looking her over. Mentally she snorted, trying to imagine just what he must be seeing: a woman only two years into adulthood by wizarding standards, hair unkempt, sweaty and dirty and clothed in clothes that were more like rags, and a Rider to boot. He was looking deeper than surface looks, she knew that, so she stood her ground, her face frozen in polite impassiveness.

Helena almost jumped when Hrothgar finally made a move. A sound came from the back of his throat, which Helena couldn’t tell whether was approving or disapproving, and he shifted on his throne.

“Your arrival at the gates of Farthen Dûr was unexpected,” the King addressed her. His voice was gravelly and old but carried a hidden strength within it. He frowned. “The incident that happened there is... unfortunate. Make no mistake about it; if you had been anyone else, I would not hesitate to have you killed.”

Helena being threatened by a page was something Godric could handle. But, apparently, Helena getting threatened by a king was not something he would stand for. Or perhaps he had his own political agenda.

Godric growled loudly, the sound bouncing around the room and amplifying. After a few seconds, the very stone beneath her feet is vibrating in tangent with her partner dragon.

Helena didn’t react, keeping her eye on the king. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a few of the dwarven guards shifting, and even more grasping their weapons. Nothing else was done, however, and after about twenty seconds Godric’s audible growling came to an end. The vibration was still in the floor, however, and Helena was sure the dwarves felt it as well; a clear warning from Godric.

She and Godric were equals, so she wouldn’t do him the disservice as to ordering him around in front of a head of a foreign state.

“The incident was indeed unfortunate, as I also stated in my letter to you,” Helena agreed, carrying on the conversation as if there hadn’t been a death threat, and as if Godric’s growling hadn’t threatened them in return. “It was not how I envisioned my first meeting with the Varden or the Dwarven nation. With that said, I will not apologise for my actions. I can understand why you have a policy of screening the mind of any individual who wishes to enter not only the heart of dwarven society, but also the main seat of resistance against Galbatorix, but it is _not_ something I will be put through. My mind is my own, and I will decide who I wish to bare my being to!”

She let that statement hang in the air for a few moments, letting Hrothgar spot just a glimmer of the will she harboured. Hrothgar didn’t respond to that, neither verbally nor nonverbally. He merely observed her with a calculated stare.

“But, as I stated,” Helena continued in a slightly amending tone, “I can understand why you have such a policy in place. I offered a compromise in form of an oath in the Ancient Language that the Varden could have a hand in creating, an offering of goodwill to display my peaceful intentions. The twin magicians that met me in the tunnels didn’t believe that was enough, insisting that a mind screening would be the only way that I would be able to enter Farthen Dûr. I warned them, several times, that if they would try to force themselves into my mind, that I would not hesitate to respond. When they assaulted my mind in spite of that, I made good on my promise. And, yet, not _one_ of your soldiers or soldiers of the Varden were fatally injured, or even injured in such a way that they would be crippled. They were incapacitated, and nothing else. Even more so, when the fighting was beginning to get out a hand, it was _me_ who stopped it. Me, not the Varden, and not your dwarven soldiers.”

“And you believe that excuses your actions?” Hrothgar questioned her sharply.

“If not that, then it explains it.”

Hrothgar blew out, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The twins overstepped their bounds. If you had not been a Rider, they would’ve been well in their right to do what they did. But you are a Rider, and you offered another solution. They had no right to deny you that. Only I or Ajihad has that right. Still, how do you expect to earn our trust, the trust of my people, the trust of the Varden, if you have something to hide?”

“Would you be willing to let _me_ search _your_ mind?” Helena shot back without hesitation. “How do I know that _you_ are trustworthy? Could your answer be that you hold the secrets of your people? That you keep personal moments of your life that only you have the right to share?”

For a moment, shocked silence spread through the throne room. Then an angry muttering occurred amongst the guards as Hrothgar narrowed his eyes. One of the guards, a younger dwarf by the looks of it, took it one step further.

“How dare you speak such!” he exclaimed at her, taking a few steps forward while pointing angrily at her. “Is this the thanks His Majesty gets for indulging in your witchy games!? Do you believe yourself above the king!?”

“Enough!” Hrothgar’s booming voice rung out. The guard winced and paled, realising what he had done. All throughout the proceedings, Helena’s face had been in her impassive mask. Though she couldn’t hear it, she could feel the vibrations in the floor as Godric begins acting up again.

Helena glanced at King Hrothgar, who is glaring at the guard, and then looked at the dwarf who had yelled at her.

“What is your name?” Helena asked of him. “Please.”

The guard only glowered at her, not looking even remotely like a person who was going to answer her question.

“Answer Lady Potter’s question,” King Hrothgar commanded his guard.

If anything, the command increased the dwarf’s glower tenfold, but he followed his King’s order.

“Derûnd,” the dwarf answered through gritted teeth.

Helena nodded. “I would never presume to be superior to your king, Derûnd. But neither am I inferior to him. Nor am I equal to him. I am a Rider, and as such, I am entirely removed from that system – as it should be. I do not mean any disrespect by that, and I try my utmost to show the respect a people as proud and old as yours deserve. I will not act like something I am not; that will not help you, and that will not help me.” The witch-turned-Dragon Rider looked back at Hrothgar, “Regardless of how my question might have come across, it still stands, King Hrothgar.”

Hrothgar looked her over again, his eyes scanning her face. “I would not,” he then answered after a moment. “But our situations differ wildly, as you must know. How are we supposed to judge your trustworthiness without putting ourselves in danger? While I don’t doubt in the strength of my people, the display in the tunnels clearly shows the damage you could cause if you so wished.”

“I hold that power,” Helena agreed. “And, yet, I have shown remarkable restraint. If it were my wish to kill you, I would have done it as soon as you were in my sight. If I wished to kill Ajihad, I would have gone with the human page who intercepted me under the Isidar Mithrim. If I merely wished to cause destruction within Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim, I wouldn’t have had to wait two days in a room outside of the crater.”

Hrothgar grumbled. “While that is true, there are a thousand more methods in which you could disrupt our operations. If I die, a new dwarven monarch would be chosen. If Ajihad dies, a new leader for the Varden would be elected. And buildings can be rebuilt. However strong your magic and might is, I doubt you would be able to kill every man, woman, and child within Farthen Dûr. No, if you truly wanted to cause havoc, you would wait until a critical moment to betray us. There are a thousand methods I can think of in which you could disrupt our operations, but it is the hundreds-of-thousands of methods that I can’t think of that worries me.”

“The offer I gave the twins still stands,” Helena told him.

“An oath in the Ancient Language is not absolute,” Hrothgar answered her gruffly. “Do not forget that the elves are our allies. They are masters of saying one thing in their Language of Truth and yet mean something else. The same subterfuge can be applied to an Oath.”

Mentally Helena noted that. For a while, she had thought that an oath in the Ancient Language was more potent than an Unbreakable Oath. After all, you _could_ actually break the Unbreakable Oath; you merely paid for it with your life. That was not possible in an oath in the Ancient Language – or so she had believed until now.

“Even mind screening can be circumvented if one is masterful enough in the mind arts,” Helena pointed out. “Believe me when I tell you that I am masterful enough. If you doubt me, question the twins in the manner of which they were expelled from my mind.”

Hrothgar considered that. “If that is true, why not simply let the twins believe they had screened your mind?”

“Because it would’ve been neither honest nor truthful,” was Helena's simple answer. Then she scrunched her face together in barely concealed anger. “And it would mean that they would’ve still been in my mind. Many things I can forgive and allow, but the sanctity of my mind is one of the few things that I stand by entirely.”

The dwarven monarch stared impassively at her for several minutes. Helena did not waiver and did not show weakness. Then Hrothgar seemed to reach some form of decision.

“’Beware, the rock changes’,” Hrothgar told her. “It is a relatively new saying among my people, and now the rock seems to shift from underneath our very feet.” He gestured out into the cavern, and Helena turned to look. “Forty-one kings and queens have sat on this very throne, now captured in stone to be ever vigil in the proceedings that occur in these halls. When I die I will join them, watching over my successor and their successor, and their successor again.” Hrothgar then pointed to a specific statue, “That is the first king, Korgan. He ruled over the dwarves before the beautiful elves or the wild dragons roamed the land. My kin and I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, and even as we squabble amongst ourselves, compared to the surface, we have been stoic and ever static.”

Hrothgar sighed and took a moment to look at each of the throned statues in the cavern before his eyes finally met Helena’s again.

“I am old,” he told her plainly. “Even by dwarven standards am I old. I am old enough to have seen the Riders in their prime. I am old enough to have the last leader of the Riders, Vrael, stand exactly where you are standing now and praise and honour me. I remember how your kind interfered in manners that you had no rights to.  But I also remember the peace that the Riders brought, and how dwarves were able to wander unharmed from Tronjheim to Narda.” He motioned to her, “And now there you stand before me like Vrael did; a dead tradition resurrected.” The monarch glanced over at Derûnd. “Is that how you perceive yourself, perceive the Riders? To be above the law?”

Helena shook her head. “Not above the law, no, but outside of it.”

Hrothgar frowned. “Semantics. I will remind you once again that the elves are our allies and we deal with them frequently. You won’t be able to make a fool of me with wordplays.”

Helena raised an eyebrow of that. “I assure you, it is not semantics. People above the law can still impose themselves on those within the law. If you want a perfect example, look no further than the Black King.” Hrothgar’s face darkened at that. “People above the law can crush and lift people within it as they see fit.”

“And that is not the case for those outside of the law?” Hrothgar challenged.

Again, Helena shook her head. “Those outside of the law are entirely removed from those within it. It is a slim lining that separates those above and those outside, I can agree to that. But it is the difference between the one who decides to throw a rock into the pond to see the rings spread out from the impact and the one who decides not to.”

Hrothgar mulled her answers over for a few moments before responding. “Is that your intention, then, if we should win the war against Galbatorix? To be a silent observer? To never interfere?”

Helena made a so-so motion. “I can’t candidly make that vow. I don’t know what I would do if we won the war. I don’t know how long the war will last, or what will happen in it. What I do know, is that no matter how hard you try to remain the same, war changes you.” Hrothgar’s eyes flashed for a moment, and Helena knew he caught the meaning behind her words; she had been to war before. “Furthermore, I am not of this land. I don’t know enough about the people and their customs – whether human, dwarven, or elven – so I have no right to impose anything on you.”

“Explain,” Hrothgar demanded immediately.

Helena gulped. Now was the true test, if they would believe her.

“I... am from a nation called the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, located on a world called Earth.” Hrothgar stared at her, his eyes having gone slightly wide. A small hope flickered in her chest, and since she didn’t know whether or not she would see the king again, she decided to go ahead and ask. “Perhaps you have heard of it under the name of Gaia?”

Slowly, Hrothgar shook his head. “No... I can’t say that I have.” The hope in Helena’s chest quickly deflated. A frown marred his face, something that actually made the dwarven king look somewhat frightening. He looked her over again. “How did you come to be here?”

“You believe me?”

“That is still undecided. Now, how did you come to be in Alagaësia?”

Helena blew a fringe out of her eye.

“I am still rather uncertain as to the ‘how’,” Helena began answering. “A little over six months ago I woke up in the Spine with no memory of how I appeared there. After some experimentation it was clear that I wasn’t able to get home by magical means, nor could I pinpoint my locations by help of magic. About a fortnight later I arrived in Teirm, and only there I could accept that I wasn’t home, wasn’t on Earth, anymore, and I have no idea of how I can get back there.”

The dwarven monarch considered her answer. “What, then, is your intention in Alagaësia?”

Helena made a small half-laugh sound. “My first intention was, as it would be with any sane individual, to try and get home. I have a family back there, loved ones, friends...”

“’Was’?” Hrothgar pressed.

A small smiled graced Helena’s lips, and she looked over to Godric. He looked back her, seeing the memories that were flowing through her mind at the moment. Love flowed back through their connection, and Helena placed a hand on her partner’s shoulder.

“Was,” Helena confirmed. She looked back at the king, dropping her hand from Godric’s shoulder. “Godric hatched for me in Teirm, and that changed everything. Despite the tense relationship you had with the Old Order, you must know of the bond there is between a Rider and their partner dragon.”

“Indeed,” Hrothgar nodded gravely.

Helena nodded back and looked at Godric again. “At first my only investment in the war against Galbatorix was justice for what he did to the dragons. Or vengeance. Whatever you like.” She met Hrothgar’s eyes again. “But things change. I travelled through the empire and saw the suffering the Oathbreaker brings to the people. I can’t let that stand in good consciousness.”

“Why not?” Hrothgar questioned her, his voice carrying more of a curious tone now rather than demanding. “If your tale is true, then you have no obligations to the people of the empire. Or the people of Surda for that matter.”

Helena considered her answer.

“In my letter, I listed one of my titles as ‘Champion of House Gryffindor’.” Hrothgar nodded. “Well, House Gryffindor is technically dead by now, but their legacy lives on in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – the school I went to. Godric Gryffindor, Godric’s namesake, helped found the school with another wizard and two witches. They each had different requirements for the students they would take in. Godric Gryffindor preferred students who were brave of heart, who were chivalrous, and who stood up for what is right. Godric might be dead for almost a millennium now, but his legacy lives on in the house he founded at the school.” Helena paused and then ended her explanation with, “I was sorted into Gryffindor when I enrolled at Hogwarts.”

If Helena were more forward, she would almost say that Hrothgar was getting engrossed in the tale she was weaving.

Hrothgar hummed. “Is it then your plan to return home, return to this ‘Earth’, after Galbatorix has been disposed of if you get that chance?”

Helena hesitated. “While my role as a Rider in Alagaësia is unsure after the war, it is non-existent on Earth. While the path I must walk as a Rider here is... broken and dangerous, there simply is no such path on Earth. I would have to build that path myself...” The witch-turned-Dragon Rider sighed. “The future holds a lot of uncertainties, and as of now, I am unsure of how I will handle them. The questions you are asking me are also questions I have thought long and hard about many times before. With so much uncertainty, so far, I have decided to focus on the immediate future: my training as a Rider, and the war against the Black King.”

“While that might work for you, as a king it is my duty to look further than that,” Hrothgar pointed out. He then seemed to consider her. “You have made your case of why you do not believe you have right to impose anything on the people of Alagaësia. If you had the right, how do you envision the Riders come about?”

“That would not only be up to me,” Helena answered truthfully. “As you must know, there is another Free Rider out there right now. His name is Eragon, and he became a Rider before me. By right and tradition, at least according to Brom, he is the new leader of the Dragon Riders.”

That answer set a stir through the dwarves. Hrothgar looked sharply at her, and Helena could only guess that Eragon’s existence wasn’t common knowledge. Rumours there had to be, she was sure of that, but perhaps not any hard evidence. Well, there was now.

“I would still like your answer,” Hrothgar insisted.

“Well,” Helena began. “As I said before, my knowledge of the Old Order is limited. That said, there are already several things that I disagree strongly with. They claimed importance to the bond between dragon and Rider, and yet in the interactions I’ve had beside Godric, he is always treated as a lesser partner in the bond. If I question it, the answer has been, multiple times, that it is simply the way things are done – tradition, if you will. My other main gripe with how the Old Order handled things is how they restricted knowledge.”

“Knowledge can be dangerous,” Hrothgar points out.

“Knowledge is the greatest equaliser that exists,” Helena retorted, perhaps a bit too heatedly. “The only reason a ruler such as you should fear knowledge, is if your rule is unjust.” Again, the dwarven guard stirred, but this time none of them came with an outburst. “Only when there isn’t a restriction of knowledge can there be genuine progress.”

“Progress for whom?” the dwarven monarch challenged.

“Progress for the people,” Helena defended her views. “Progress for every people. Progress in understanding, progress in society, progress in science.”

“Is it your view, then, that there was no progress under the Old Order?”

“You can probably answer that question better than I can,” Helena honestly admitted. “I just know this: Ideas, like people, only thrive when they are free.”

“You talk about freedom, but how do you view how the Riders interfered?” it came from Hrothgar. “Was that for freedom?”

“I cannot say what went through the heads of the Riders of Old any more than you can,” Helena told him calmly. “In my vision, the Riders are watchers, historians, healers, teachers, philosophers, and protectors. They are not rulers, they are not judges, and they are not executioners. They respect the sovereignty of dwarves, of man, and of every sentient being who lives across the land.”

“You claim that you see the Riders not interfere, and yet you leave an opening by not saying anything absolutely,” Hrothgar said gruffly. “Do you see the Riders never imposing their will or not?”

“Not over philosophical differences, no,” Helena answered.

“Speak plainly!”

Helena sighed, trying to find a way to explain this. It came to her slowly.

“While I trained alongside Eragon under Brom, we were on our way to Dras-Leona,” Helena began slowly, purposefully stating (to leave no question about it) that she trained under Brom. “He was curious about my beliefs because of a comment I had made about the Cult of Helgrind. My answer to him was, among other things, that I believe in the inherited right of all free-willed people to exist. As long as a ruler doesn’t interfere with that, I don’t see any reason why a Rider should have a right to impose their will onto that ruler.”

“That still leaves a lot up for interpretation.”

“If you want absolutes, I can’t give you that. The world simply does not work that way. It evolves and changes, and so do we,” Helena tried explaining calmly. “I’m not saying that the Riders won’t disagree with how things might be done in the future, but if it is the will of the people, I don’t believe them – us – to have any right to interfere with that. But the moment a minority, or even the majority if worse has come to worst, is suppressed, then I think it is the Riders’ _duty_ to interfere. But _only_ up until the point of the people no longer being subjugated; the Riders would have no right in deciding what should happen next and have no right to interfere in how the people choose to live after that unless they begin suppressing other sentient beings’ right to exist.”

Finally, Hrothgar seemed pleased with her answer. Or at least confident that he could get nothing different from her. He nodded and leant back in his throne, clasping his hand together. And then he simply stared at her.

“Why have you come to Farthen Dûr?”

“To meet up with Eragon,” Helena answered honestly. “We were travelling together but got separated after Dras-Leona. I know that Brom always intended to bring us to the Varden sooner or later, so instead of running halfway about the empire trying to look for him, which would’ve brought both myself and Godric in danger, I decided the best course of action would be to wait for him here.”

“I have heard stories about what happened in Dras-Leona,” Hrothgar revealed. “Rumours mostly. Perhaps you would shed some light on the events that transpired there?”

“I cannot reveal everything, as the tale contains secrets that are not mine to tell,” Helena said, mirroring Brom from months earlier. Hrothgar nodded, but still motioned for her to proceed. “We were hunting the Ra’zac and had tracked them down to Helgrind. Before we could do anything about it, though, they ambushed Eragon and me instead. We managed to flee Dras-Leona with Brom, but I was hurt rather badly. I fell unconscious while we fled. The Ra’zac managed to track us down again and ambushed us once more; a fight broke out, Brom got hurt, and Godric fled with me. When I regained consciousness, I tried to track Eragon down, but with the Ra’zac about and me being hurt, it simply carried too many risks.”

“I see...” it came from Hrothgar, his eyes resting on Godric for a moment.

“Of course,” Helena said, bringing the king’s attention to her again. “As I have revealed, I also wish to fight against the Black King. Allying myself with the Varden seems to be a good idea considering that. I don’t want to become a member, though – all the politicking around is a nightmare as it is. But I wish to assist them. That said, before I have met up with Eragon again, I can’t declare anything. We are the last Free Riders, and as such, our destinies are bound together.”

Hrothgar hummed as way of answering. And then his eyes fell on Godric again. “And what of you, great dragon? What is your opinion on these subjects?”

‘ _I wish to tear the flesh from the Oathbreaker’s bones. I wish to cause him every bit the suffering he has caused all my brothers and sisters. I wish to slay him and flay him,_ ’ Godric growled in her mind and the mind of the dwarves. ‘ _Apart from that, I have no plans. I go where Lady Helena goes. As far as your people are concerned, I have no wish or urge to harm them.’_ He paused. ‘ _I can’t say that will stay true if they keep threatening my Rider.’_

A ghost of a smile actually appears on Hrothgar’s lips. “A good answer. I see that the ferocity of the dragons has not lessened in the last century.”

Just like when Hrothgar had called the dragons wild, calling them ferocious was no insult. It was the way dragons were. It didn’t mean that it was the only thing the dragons were, but they were most certainly also that.

“Now, to cut to the core of the matter, and why you are standing in front of me,” Hrothgar began. “Why did you approach me instead of waiting for the Varden leaders to summon you? And why not accept Ajihad’s summons when they came?”

“I am a proud person.” Helena’s answer is frank and candid. “I know that. I also know that I am proud to a fault. That also ties into why I do not like to be made a fool of, and if I stayed behind in that room, waiting for the Varden leaders to get their act together, then I would’ve been made just that. Approaching you instead of the leaders of the Varden also gives me some political leverage in my dealings with them.”

“Oh?” it came from Hrothgar. Mentally Helena rolled his eyes; as if he didn’t know.

“The Varden is located within Farthen Dûr, within Tronjheim, but neither belongs to them,” Helena explained plainly. “At the end of the day, it is you who decide who is and is not allowed within the mountain.”

“And why would I jeopardise my relationship with the Varden?” Hrothgar asked of Helena.

“It does not take a genius to see that the relationship is already flawed,” Helena pointed out. “Not by a lot, but the arrangement is clearly not made by choice, but by necessity. You need each other to fight against Galbatorix, and I am sure you respect each other, but that only goes so far. Even now, the twins overstepped their bounds, and while you mentioned Ajihad could decide whether or not my offer of an oath was good enough, I don’t believe he would’ve been able to give an answer without having informed you first.” Hrothgar quirked an eyebrow at that but gave no other indication, so Helena continued. “You ask for a reason to help me? Do it to show the Varden, non-violently, where the power of Tronjheim in located; in this ancient throne room, overlooked by dwarven monarchs of the past, and not over a wooden, human desk.” She paused for a moment. “You would also have my personal gratitude, and whether or not I will work with the Varden in the end, that is no small thing in the face of things to come.”

“There will be repercussions,” Hrothgar warned.

“I will make enemies,” Helena conceded. “But no matter what I do, what I say, I will make enemies. Right now, I just do it by choice.”

Hrothgar nodded at that. “Still, you could have achieved as much if you had accepted Ajihad’s summons. So why didn’t you?”

“The same reason I didn’t deceive the twins,” Helena answered plainly. “It would not be right, not after you had accepted my request for an audience. Besides, as I said, I’m a proud person. That Ajihad will have to explain to the other leaders of the Varden this mess of a situation gives me a sick kind of pleasure.”

Hrothgar looked surprised at her candour. “You don’t pull any punches.”

“I’m not ashamed of who I am,” came Helena’s answer unashamed.

The dwarven king folded his hands once again and stared at Helena. He did so for several minutes, not moving a muscle for the entirety of that time.

“Alright,” he finally spoke up. “I will welcome you in Farthen Dûr as long as you arrange to take an oath in the Ancient Language at the earliest date. You will have to involve Ajihad in that, but I will make sure he knows that it is my wish. Until that time, you will have six of my soldiers watching over you at all times. Your movement will also be restricted, and you won’t be allowed near the armoury, the Training Grounds, or be welcomed in any strategic discussions. That is non-negotiable.”

“Understandable and acceptable,” Helena inclined her head.

“Good, then-.”

“Do you swear on it? That you will not change your story or promise for some political gain?” Helena cut him off.

Hrothgar narrowed his eyes and showed a hint of anger. “Are you trying to bind me with an oath in the Ancient Language?”

Helena couldn’t help it. She stared at him almost pitifully. “Merlin, how has the Varden been treating you? I said nothing about the Ancient Language; I merely want you to swear it in the tongue we’re speaking in, right here and now. If you should break your promise, then I will know, and you will know, and if dwarves are anything like wizardkind, then everyone will soon know that the King Under the Mountain broke his promise.”

Hrothgar barked out a laugh. “You truly do have wit about you. Not that I had any doubt after this conversation. You remind me some bit about the elves – some good, some bad. Aye, you have my promise that I will not go back on my word. In fact, I will have each of my guards spread the word of my promise.”

Helena breathed out in relief. “I thank you, King Hrothgar.” Beside her, Godric also tilted his head in respect for the Dwarven monarch.

“There are plenty of rooms in Tronjheim to choose from,” Hrothgar informed her. “Choose any that is uninhabited, and it will be yours for as long as you should stay here.”

“If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I would prefer to stay with Godric.”

“The dragons of the Order stayed in the Dragonhold at the top of Tronjheim, and Godric will be doing the same,” Hrothgar informed of her.

“Is it possible for me, for the time being, to stay there as well?” Helena requested. “I do not require any services or large beds or anything like that. If I could get a good blanket and a soft pillow, I would be satisfied. But while you also need to judge me before you trust me, the same applies the other way around. As of right now, I have no-one I trust explicitly within Farthen Dûr apart from Godric. And I trust Godric with my life.”

Thankfully, Hrothgar didn’t take offence to that. “Of course.”

Helena allowed herself to sag just the slightest bit together in relief. While this whole mess of a situation was far from resolved, at least this had been a victory. Time would only show how significant of a victory it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy bloody hell! 14,3k words, or twenty-six pages! Could you imagine if this chapter and Chapter Fifteen had been one chapter? And here is the real sucker punch: I had originally planned for even more in Chapter Fifteen. I have now learned that there is a crazy difference between planning what will happen in a chapter (even in detail), and then actually writing it. Despite that, I really love this chapter and hope you do as well.  
> I also can’t keep my goal of finishing Book One here in July. I had planned for maybe 35k-45k words being left to write, but now I have no idea. I still have it all planned, so you can expect frequent updates (at least up until I begin school again in mid-August). My goal now is simply to finish Book One as quickly as possible and then take a small break before slowly starting on Book Two.  
> A small disclaimer or whatever I should call it: the description of Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim is sometimes almost word for word taken from the Eragon novel. Call me lazy, but I had such a tough time describing them. I hope it sits alright with you guys, considering how much of this chapter is original.  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> Ancient Language Translations:  
> Argetlam – Silverhand  
> Dwarven Language Translations:  
> Farthen Dûr – Our Father  
> Tronjheim – Helm of Giants


	17. Sanctuary In The Midst of Opponents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Godric grunted in her head. ‘You try being trapped inside a hollow mountain with nothing to do. It’s all I’ve been able to do. Puns and riddles.’  
> Helena’s mirth dimmed a bit. ‘I’m sorry, My Heart. But at least you’re able to fly inside Farthen Dûr.’  
> ‘There are worse places to be trapped,’ Godric conceded. ‘But it’s like getting a taste of freedom without it being fully granted. I miss the wind. I miss the sun on my scales. I just... miss it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Ajihad was a strong man, both in body and in spirit. He would have to be to lead a faction the likes of the Varden. Had he been from Earth, his skin would tell of a heritage from the depths of the African continent: he was as black as midnight. The dome of his head was shaved bare, and he had a carefully trimmed black beard that covered his chin and upper lip. His features were robust, high cheekbones sitting below grave and intelligent black eyes. The way he sat in his chair, hands folded on his desk, shoulders square and back straight, as he looked Helena straight in the eyes was greatly dignified, but also gave off an air of tenseness and command. He was wearing a red vest over a rich purple shirt, clearly of the same style as the robes the twins had worn.

Personally, Helena didn’t have anything against the man. Quite the contrary, in fact; Helena held a great deal of respect for Ajihad. She didn’t know him enough to have respect for his person, but she sure as hell had respect for what the man was trying to do. Helena was under no illusions about how difficult it must be to resist and to fight against Galbatorix’s rule, and she, perhaps better than many, understood the burden of being a leader and seeing people give their very lives for a course one championed.

Respect for the person and respect for the organisation were two wildly different things, however.

It had been two days since Helena’s audience with Hrothgar, and since she had received a welcome into Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim. Perhaps more relevant at the moment; it had been two days since Ajihad had summoned her, and since she had rejected his summons in favour of meeting with the King Under the Mountain. Coincidentally, it had also been two days between Helena arriving at the gates of Farthen Dûr until Ajihad summoned her – one could make of that what one would.

So far the meeting with the Varden leader had been uneventful. Helena had entered the chamber – a spacious dwarven room filled with human pieces of furniture – and was greeted by Ajihad in the form of a sharp nod. Helena had walked up to his desk, crossed her arms, and then simply stood there looking at him, firmly ignoring the chair which had been prepared for her. And that was that. They had been staring each other unwaveringly in the eyes, neither wanting to give the other the victory (however small it was).

Godric hadn’t come with Helena to meet Ajihad, instead opting to stay in the Dragonhold (where the two of them had spent the majority of the last two days). This had been Godric’s idea, not only because he had an even lower opinion of the Varden than Helena, but also because it would send a pretty strong signal; having participated in the meeting with the dwarven king but not the leader of the Varden, it was clear who was shown the most respect.

So there Helena was, alone in a room with Ajihad. By her reckoning, it had been five minutes. As much as her pride got her into trouble, she was good at using it to stand steadfast. Given, that was also the cause of said trouble her pride got her into. This was also the reason why it didn’t come as a surprise – to her, at least – that it was Ajihad who broke the silence.

“You met with the king,” was the first thing Helena had heard Ajihad say out loud. She settled with raising an eyebrow in response. He didn’t give an outward reaction to her non-reply. “What happened in the tunnels?”

“Your twin magicals grossly overstepped their bounds,” Helena answered stiffly. As much as she would’ve liked her voice to be as neutral and formal as it had been since they had arrived at the gates of Farthen Dûr, that someone had tried to force themselves into her mind was not something she took lightly. “They were arrogant and condescending and disrespectful.”

Ajihad raised an eyebrow. “While that is consistent with the reports I have received, I would still like your recount of what happened _exactly_.” Helena’s eyes hardened at the clipped tone, which only served to stiffen the ebony-skinned man’s jaw. “Please.”

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider took a few moments to let Ajihad stew in silence, but then let out a short breath and started over.

“Godric and I found our way here with the help of Angela, whom I assume you know of.” It wasn’t a question, but Ajihad gave a short nod. “We were first spotted by a patrol of soldiers, who almost immediately shot an arrow at Godric. I stopped it before it made it more than a few yards. For the record: No harm, no foul; if I had been in their position, I’m afraid I would’ve done worse. I do hope the soldier in question hasn’t been reprimanded too harshly.”

“Indeed,” was Ajihad’s response, and his lips twitched. “Considering the mess that happened down there, I am not so concerned with a young boy getting frightened by a dragon.”

Helena inclined her head slightly and then continued her tale. “Angela uttered some passphrase and disappeared, while Godric and I waited in the tunnels for someone of higher rank to take a handle on the situation. We did not move from the spot the patrol had first spotted us in, nor did we make any fast of threatening movements; we were cooperative. We continued to be so even when the twins arrived with a regiment of soldiers; we had expected as much to happen. And then it went downhill from there: the twins insisted that the only option for us getting entry into the mountain was to let them search my mind. I immediately refused that, instead offering the alternative of taking an oath in the Ancient Language, an oath that I was willing to let the Varden participate in constructing. They refused it. We argued for a minute or two, I believe, before I warned them that if they would try to force themselves into my mind – which they had threatened to do multiple times – then I would not hesitate to retaliate. They still refused any and all suggestions, so I was about to leave. That was when they made good on their threat, and I made good on my word; a fight ensued, and Godric and I won.”

Ajihad frowned lightly. Then after a few moments of silence said, “One of the twins is still a ferret.”

“Yes, I would imagine so.”

Silence reigned in the room as Ajihad waited for her to elaborate. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to do so, Ajihad’s frown deepened.

“Why is one of the twins a ferret?” Ajihad then asked.

“Because I transfigured him into a ferret,” Helena simply replied.

Once again Ajihad waits for her to elaborate, though not for as long as before. The mask finally cracked, and ebony-skinned man breathed in sharply as closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sat as such for five seconds, and Helena could just imagine him counting in his head to keep his cool. Yes, Helena knew the effect she had on him, and, yes, Helena knew she was being obnoxious. But as had been thoroughly established; she was not happy with the Varden.

Ajihad looked up at her with a fire in his eyes.

“I will summon the twins here, and you will undo your witchcraft on-,“ the leader of the Varden began. His voice seemed to boom inside of the room, with a tone of voice that demanded – and expected – to be followed.

He, however, must’ve seen the fire that flared up inside of Helena because he stopped himself. And then he surprised Helena; he cleared his throat and began again. His tone still held authority, but it was a far cry from the voice he had been using a moment earlier.

“I would like for you to undo whatever magicks are keeping the younger twin as a ferret,” Ajihad told her. “However wronged you were, the twins are members of the Varden, and if punishment is to be dealt onto them, it will come from me.”

That was a somewhat amicable and reasonable request when it came down to it. Still...

“I have yet to receive an apology,” Helena reminded Ajihad. The words had only just left her mouth when an affronted, and even outraged, look appeared on Ajihad’s face. Helena was quick to continue before things blew out of proportions. “From the twins, of course, not you. It has not even been half a minute since you admitted that I _was_ wronged. You had, and have, good reason to have the security measures in place that you have, and as hypocritical as I may come across, I feel safer within Farthen Dûr knowing that there aren’t Empire spies running around.” Safer was not safe, but Helena saw no point in pointing out the obvious. “That said, the twins grossly overstepped their bounds. They not only violated your authority but the authority of your host. I denied them access to my mind; I warned them that there would be consequences if they tried to access my mind anyhow. _They. Didn’t. Listen._ One thing you might as well learn about me now; for better or for worse, I keep my word.”

If Ajihad had expected a meek girl who was tripping about her feet, trying to beg for forgiveness for her actions against the Varden, he was sorely disappointed. Helena, with no uncertainty whatsoever, didn’t see herself being in the wrong even one bit.

The ebony-skinned leader of the Varden stared at her for a few breaths and then sighed wearily.

“I... will make the twins see the importance of giving you the apology you deserve,” Ajihad told her, looking like he had aged a decade in the last few minutes. “But I must insist that you undo the witchcraft cast upon the younger twin after.”

“When I have my apology, you will have your magician back,” Helena agreed. “But not one moment earlier.”

Ajihad gave a sharp nod, and with that out of the way, some of the tenseness left the room. There was still a load of it, of course, but less than before. And since Helena (in her mind anyway) had been granted a victory, decided to be just the tiniest bit lenient of the man before her; she sat down in the chair that had been prepared for her. If Ajihad were anything remotely like a politician worth his position, he would see that action for what it was – a peace offering, however small.

Another silence settled in the room as they again took the time to look the other person over. Being a guest of King Hrothgar, Helena had thankfully been gifted with new clothes and the permission to use the baths. It was a far cry from the modern commodities she had gotten used to (and had taken for granted) back home, but it was far more advanced than anything she had seen in the human cities. So instead of the ragged and dirty woman who had met with King Hrothgar (and still had seemed dignified, thank you very much), it was a clean and collected Rider who met with Ajihad. The clothes she had been offered were simple (leather trousers and an airy white shirt), but they did wonders for her confidence.

“I want to fight against the Black King,” Helena broke the silence. “Godric as well, of course. Given the Varden’s active campaign against Galbatorix, allying ourselves with you seems to provide the best opportunity to hurt him.” Ajihad looked pleased with that, and that made Helena narrow her eyes. “But let me make this perfectly clear: you have no authority over me. I am not a member of the Varden, and Alagaësia is not my home. There is nothing you have that you can lord over me. Godric and I are independent. If we ally ourselves with the Varden, we will be equals. That said, as I think I’ve stated over a dozen times since arriving here, we do not seek to harm the Varden.”

The pleased look on Ajihad’s face was wiped away. “Lady Potter, surely you can see that you’re putting me in an awkward position. I don’t doubt your prowess in battle, but that is a far cry from leading anything. And a young woman such as yourself-.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Helena cut Ajihad off harshly. “If you were about to bring up my gender as a factor against anything other than peeing while standing up, I will walk out that door this instant, and you will not see me as an ally again. Just because my reproductive organs are on the inside instead of the outside, doesn’t mean I can’t handle whatever you can handle.”

“I know,” Ajihad replied in a surprisingly understanding tone. “I can assure you that. My late wife, while not a warrior, was one of the strongest people I have ever known, a strength that my daughter has inherited. The elven ambassador was also a woman, and she was able to run circles around everyone in this mountain. But, sad as it is, not everyone understands.”

“Yeah, well, they can go screw an ogre,” Helena replied. “There is no way that I will make myself less than what I am to protect the frail mind of people who believes I should stay in the kitchen while popping out bairns.”

Ajihad grunted at that. “That issue aside,” he continued, and Helena was this close from jumping and smacking him across the face, because her being a woman was not an ‘issue’, “there is also the deal the Varden made with the elves.”

“What deal?”

“Once we got our hands on a dragon egg, there was some conflict as to how it should be handled,” Ajihad explained. “Whoever the dragon hatched for would get a lot of influence, and, of course, the Varden wanted the new Rider to be a human, while the elves wanted it to be one of their own who was chosen. The solution was to carry the egg between here and Du Weldenvarden in the hands of an egg carrier. Furthermore, once the egg had hatched, the new Rider would spend one year under Brom being trained, and then sent to the elves. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that deal.”

Helena snorted. “That deal was made over Saphira’s egg and is now about Eragon. I trained under Brom because he offered, and, yes, I might approach the elves one day to expand on that training, but even before Godric hatched for me, I was not to be messed with. As I said, you have nothing you can lord over me.”

“Now, you listen here-,” Ajihad started, his tone taking a tone for the sharper again. But Helena’s patience was also running dry.

“No, you listen here,” Helena cut him off, standing up again. “It is indeed true that I wish to form a partnership with the Varden, but I will not trade my independence away. If that is not good enough, then I will not hesitate to go against the Black King on my own. And who do you think the common people would follow? Men under the mountain, bogeymen by Galbatorix’s words, who have had a century to do something but has limited results to show for it? Or a Dragon Rider standing openly against the Black King?”

Had Ajihad been a lesser man, Helena was sure he would’ve bolted from his seat as well. As it was, his eyes had turned hard as flint, and his jaw had tightened so much that the witch-turned-Dragon Rider was surprised he hadn’t broken it.

“I will need to speak to the Council about the issues you have put forward,” Ajihad bit out at her. “And as for your veiled threats-.”

“What veil?” Helena asked calmly. Squaring her shoulders, she looked Ajihad in the eyes as silence reigned once again. “You know my position. Speak to your Council and make your decision.”

Helena didn’t wait for a response this time; she turned around and walked towards the door. And, yet, as she put her hand on the handle, she turned her head to see Ajihad frowning deeply as he looked down at his desk.

 “Ajihad.” The man in question looked up at her. “I truly do respect what you’re trying to do, but I’ve been made a puppet of before, and I will not allow it to happen again. It was telling the truth when I said that I want to have a relationship with the Varden, and hopefully, an amicable one where we can be candid with one another. I am not just trying to be stubborn and act out, but I cannot with good conscious just hand over the power and responsibility I have gained to another. I am also aware that I don’t know everything, and I am more than willing to take advice and follow the Varden’s lead when the situation calls for it. I am also not bluffing when I said that I will strike out on my own – I have done so before, and I am willing to do so again. But I know the burdens that come with being a leader, and I have no wish to add that on top of being a Rider.” Helena let that sink in before coming with her finishing statement. “I want to work with the Varden, but I will not be made a fool of.”

Ajihad breathed in deeply. “Thank you, Lady Potter.”

Helena nodded, taking note of the thoughtful expression that Ajihad now wore. And then she turned about and left the room.

‘ _You should’ve left without saying anything,’_ Godric complained. ‘ _You have given Ajihad power now.’_

‘ _I have,’_ Helena agreed. ‘ _But politics are just that; giving and taking. Had we been dragons it would’ve been wise to hoard all the power to myself, but we’re not. With humans, it’s about sharing power with the right kind of people and working successfully together. Well, with democratic people anyway.’_

‘ _That almost sounds too easy.’_

Helena chuckled. ‘ _It is anything but easy. In some ways, just having one person with all the power is easier. But, in my opinion, this is better.’_

~ BWaC ~

The next day Helena decided that it was high time that she tried joining the daily life of Farthen Dûr. So far, she had stayed mostly in the Dragonhold, and, really, that had suited her just fine. Not many even considered walking up the many stairs to the top of Tronjheim, so she had peace. Furthermore, since she hadn’t taken the oath in the Ancient Language, she was still followed by six of Hrothgar’s soldiers; it was kind of awkward walking with dwarves trailing after her. The dwarves themselves also seemed to be just fine with her staying in the Dragonhold. They were much more pleasant than the Varden soldiers had been, though just as stoic and silent. The difference was that they acknowledged her, nodded to her, and didn’t make her feel as disrespected as Malfoy when he was smacked in the face by Hermione.

A smile made itself onto her face at the memory. Then longing hit her as she missed not only Hermione, but all her friends so terribly much. Unlike how when she had been on the road with Godric, Helena didn’t dismiss the memories or feelings. She was safe (more or less) in Tronjheim, and she was allowed to lower her guard, just ever so slightly. She wouldn’t sit down and bawl, not even up in the Dragonhold, but she allowed herself a moment of just missing her friends and her home.

But she digressed; the point Helena was trying to make, was that she thought it was time to join some of the going-ons of Tronjheim. Not politically (not any more than she already had, anyhow), but just show herself. That was why, after a morning flight around Farthen Dûr (she had asked for permission beforehand, not wanting the king to freak out), Helena made her way down to the dining hall to break her fast with the rest of the mountain.

The dining hall was enormous, of course. It was not the only one in the city-mountain Helena had been told by one of her guards; there were a great many dining halls throughout the different levels, but most of them stood unused like so many of the halls and rooms. This dining hall, though, was the largest of both those which were in use and those which were not. It reminded her a bit Hogwart’s Great Hall, albeit more earthbound and less magical. It was to no-one’s surprise, then, that another small wave of homesickness hit her.

With Godric remaining in the Dragonhold (while much of the city-mountain was large enough for him to move through, it was still a hassle, so, for the most part, he stayed above the Star-Sapphire), Helena didn’t draw attention right away. No-one spared her even a passing glance as she made herself up to the large buffet and filled her plate, nor when she moved through the room and sat at an empty table halfway down the dining hall. Then, almost from one moment to the next, the hubbub of the chatting and eating that had gone on around her abruptly faded.

Helena glanced up from her porridge with different assortments of nuts and berries and saw almost every single person stare unashamedly at her. She swallowed a mouthful porridge immediately, some of the nuts causing a bit of discomfort in her oesophagus. Their looks weren’t hostile (most of them, anyhow), but a mix between cautious and hopeful. Helena smiled at the few she made eye-contact with, as she had done when she had walked through Farthen Dûr three days prior. The leaders of the Varden might be a bunch of cunts for making her wait as they did, but that had nothing to do with these people. She hoped, no matter the outcome of her talks with Ajihad, that she would be able to make life just the tiniest bit easier for these people.

‘ _We will, together,’_ Godric told her. ‘ _You’re too stubborn not to.’_

A small smile played on the witch-turned-Dragon Rider’s lips. ‘ _I’m afraid I’ve passed some of that stubbornness onto you. Still, for all my bravado in front of Ajihad, if we need to strike out on our own, it will not be easy.’_

‘ _Sure, the fight might drag-on,’_ Godric told her. ‘ _But if anything, then I’ll wing it._ ’

The spoon fell from Helena’s hand, making a bit of a mess of the table as it splashed into her porridge. Helena sat stunned for a few seconds. Then she broke out laughing.

‘ _What the bloody hell was that?’_ Helena asked her partner, ignoring the strange looks she was getting. ‘ _Alright, we’ve already settled that you should leave the sarcasm to me. Now, I’m officially stating, for my sanity, please don’t make such puns. They’re bad. Extremely so.’_

Godric grunted in her head. ‘ _You try being trapped inside a hollow mountain with nothing to do. It’s all I’ve been able to do. Puns and riddles.’_

Helena’s mirth dimmed a bit. ‘ _I’m sorry, My Heart. But at least you’re able to fly inside Farthen Dûr.’_

‘ _There are worse places to be trapped,’_ Godric conceded. ‘ _But it’s like getting a taste of freedom without it being fully granted. I miss the wind. I miss the sun on my scales. I just... miss it.’_

‘ _I know.’_ There wasn’t much more she could say to him. ‘ _Alright, let me hear one of those riddles. Just... please don’t let them be as bad as the puns.’_ She paused. ‘ _And by the way, where did you learn of puns?’_

‘ _Brom.’_

Helena’s eyes widened. ‘ _Truly?’_

‘ _Indeed,’_ Godric answered, a smile in his voice.

‘ _I didn’t know you talked to him that much.’_

‘ _I didn’t. He talked more at me than with me.’_

Helena chuckled. ‘ _You must share those memories with me sometime.’_

‘ _Of course, Dear One.’_ His mind brushed closer up against hers for a moment. Helena reciprocated it.

‘ _Now, let me hear that riddle.’_

‘ _If you throw me out the window, I’ll leave a grieving wife. Bring me back, but through the door, you’ll see me giving someone life. What am I?’_

Helena frowned, as she began wiping up the spilt porridge on the table. Godric sat in the back of her mind, enjoying as he observed her mind working. He had done that often since he hatched and was one of the methods he learned from her. As the last porridge was cleaned from the table, Helena sat back with a sigh.

‘ _I give up,’_ Helena told Godric.

‘ _I am the letter ‘n’,’_ Godric answered with pride. Pride, because he had come up with a riddle she couldn’t answer. Now, Helena was far from a master of riddles, so it had more to do with Godric’s ability to come up with riddles having improved. Not that they did riddles often. ‘ _Throw the letter ‘n’ from the word ‘window’, and you have ‘widow’. Bring back the letter ‘n’ into the word ‘door’, and you have a ‘donor’.’_

 _‘Clever,’_ Helena complimented Godric with a laugh.

“What are you laughing about?” a small voice asked. Helena’s eyes snapped up to see a kid, no more than seven or eight, stand on the other side of the table from her. He had tousled, dirty-blond hair (reminding her of Neville), a wide-set pair of pale, blue eyes, and a broad smile with a small gap between his two front incisors. His face was spattered with freckles.

“Pardon?” Helena asked.

“Par-what?” the kid scrunched his face together in confusion.

“It means I’m sorry,” Helena chuckled. “What were you saying?”

“I asked what you were laughing about,” the kid asked. “You’ve sat by yourself grinning for a while now. The other kids thought you were mad.” At that point, the boy pointed over to another table where a small group of kids sat. As Helena looked over at them, they all yelped and looked determinedly down onto their plates. Helena’s lips twitched.

“Mad is relative,” Helena shrugged. “Who’s to say I’m not mad?”

The kid shrugged. “I dunno.”

Helena let out a small bark of a laugh. “Indeed. If you truly want to know, I was chatting with Godric. Out from his demeanour, you would think that he has no humour whatsoever. That’s not true of course – he _does_ have humour. It’s just incredibly terrible.”

Godric scoffed in her mind. ‘ _Isn’t that a case of the kettle calling the pot black?’_

‘ _I’ve never claimed to have good humour,’_ Helena pointed.

“Godric?” The kid’s voice brought Helena back to the dining hall. The kid looked confused and looked excited. “Is that your dragon?”

Helena made a so-so motion. “A dragon can’t really ‘belong’ to anyone. Godric is my partner, just as I am his partner.”

If it was even possible, the kid looked even more excited. He also somehow took the answer as an invitation to sit down across from her. Helena couldn’t help but smile at that. Though, just to be sure, the witch-turned-Dragon Rider glanced over at her dwarven guards standing by the wall. While they were watching her more closely now, they didn’t make any move against the kid sitting with her. Honestly, Helena didn’t know if she would be as forgiving if she had been in their place, so good for them.

Helena again glanced over the crowd in the dining hall. Curious looks had joined in, both directed at her, but also at the kid.

“It seems everyone has an idea of the person I’m supposed to be,” Helena commented. It wasn’t directed at the kid per se, but he was the only person there. And what was that saying? Only kids and pissed people told the truth?

“Oh?” it came from the kid as he tilted his head. He then looks around the room, before looking back at Helena. He took a few moments where he almost seemed to scrutinise her. “You don’t really seem bothered by it.”

Helena snorted. “If I let other people’s expectations bother me, I would never have peace of mind.” Merlin, you could really hear she wasn’t used to talking to kids. Still, he sat there across from her attentively, seemingly taking in every word she uttered. “I could speak my throat raw trying to convince them of who I am until hippogriffs decided to let things slide, and people would only believe me until the next person with a silver tongue and sugared words convince them otherwise. There is nothing for it, but to let my actions speak for themselves.”

“I don’t really get it,” the kid grumbled after a few moments. Helena quietly chuckled and ruffled his hair. The kid yelped, leaned away, and quickly tried to set his hair right again – not that it seemed to have been in a hairstyle to begin with.

Helena smiled at that – and, yeah, she had noticed how much she had smiled since he had sat at her table. She tilted her head slightly. “Hey kid, what’s your name?” The kid’s eyes widened. It was clear he had only just noticed he hadn’t introduced himself.

“I’m Carver,” the kid, Carver, presented himself with a boyish grin. “Carver Thomasson.”

“Well, wotcher Carver, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Helena replied, and then presented her hand. “My name is Helena.”

Again, Carver got excited and didn’t waste time shaking her hand. Helena didn’t miss how he shot a look over at the table where the other kids sat; they had given up all pretence of pretending to eat, instead staring unashamedly at their friend and her.

“So, tell me, Carver, how old are you?” Helena inquired.

“I’m eight,” Carver answered with a bright smile. “But I turn nine in a month. How about you?”

“I’m eighteen,” Helena chuckled. Merlin, how easy it was to be a kid. She then leaned forward towards him and said to him with a twinkle in her eyes, “And I’ll turn nineteen in three months.”

Carver grinned right back. “Cool.”

“Well, since you live here, perhaps you could answer a question of mine,” Helena changed the subject. “Do you know of a library here in Tronjheim?”

Carver nodded his head wildly, his hair shaking about as he did. “The dwarves have a giant library. But I’m not allowed in there.”

“Do you need permission to use the library?”

The kid shrugged. “I don’t think so. I just think it’s us kids who can’t go in there alone. I don’t know why.” Helena could imagine why but saw no reason to bring it up.

“Well, can you tell me where it is located?”

Carver’s eyes lit up. “I can take you there!”

Helena raised an eyebrow. “And will that be alright with your parents?”

Almost immediately Carver seemed to fall in on himself, though he caught himself quite quickly. The smile now was more forced, and the light in his eyes had dimmed.

“My parents are dead. I’m an orphan,” Carver explained, a sad smile on his face. He looked over at his friends. “We are all are.” Helena looked over at the kids, and only now did she noticed that they sat alone there. There were other kids in the dining hall, but they all sat with at least one adult. “My papa died fighting a few months ago. My mama died not long after. People say that she died from grief.” Helena looked at the boy – at all the kids, really – with sympathy.

“I apologise for bringing it up,” it came from Helena.

 Carver shrugged. “’s'okay.”

“It will never be okay,” Helena told the kid gently. That caused Carver to look up at her again, a question in his eyes.  “I’m an orphan, too.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Helena nodded. “Though my parents died a long time ago. I was only one year old. They died, like your papa, fighting.”

“It’s a good death,” Carver commented. “That’s what people say.”

“I guess there are worse ways to die,” Helena conceded. She was putting it gently; she knew there were worse ways to die. “It will never be okay that they’re gone, Carver. But I promise you; it will get better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Helena confirmed. “And even if it hurts being an orphan, don’t you have people around you that care for you? I know I did.” Images of Ron, Hermione, Molly, Arthur, McGonagall, Hagrid, and Dumbledore (to name a few) flashed through her mind’s eye.

Carver hesitated, looking thoughtful. “Maybe... I think so.” Helena smiled softly at him again; it was clear that the kid had been too caught up in his own grief to think about it. Not that Helena could blame him for that: he was only eight years old.

“If you don’t have anywhere else to be, then I would be than happy if you could show me where the library is,” Helena said.

“Great!” Carver exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. Then he spotted her half-eaten bowl of porridge, and almost bashfully asked, “Are you finished?”

Helena let out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m finished. Lead the way.”

Carver grinned madly as she got up, grabbing her hand and tugging her along. Helena was pretty sure there were a few jaws that needed to be picked up from the floor, and she revelled in the shock of the people around her. Her guards, of course, trailed after Carver and her, amused smiles playing on their lips.

Carver was of course at home in Tronjheim, and Helena could just imagine him exploring the ancient tunnels (and probably getting told off because of it). He led her through several of the tunnels, and up three flights of stairs, before turning about one last corner and stopped before a couple of open great oaken doors.

Like almost everything inside Farthen Dûr, the library was enormous. Not that the books, bookcases, or anything like that were of a larger size, but just the amount was incredible. As Helena and Carver stood at the entrance, Helena wasn’t able to see where the room ended. And, really, the bookcases almost went from the floor to the ceiling.

‘ _I wonder if it is because of their small stature, that they feel compelled to leave their mark on the world,’_ Godric mused through their link.

‘ _I’d watch out how you phrase that if you ever decide to ask a dwarf,’_ Helena joked. ‘ _They don’t strike me as the forgiving type when you wound their pride. And they have axes.’_

_‘Bwah!’_

And, yes, she realised that it was another case of the pot calling the kettle black.

“Are you talking to your dragon?” Carver asked her excitedly.

Helena raised an eyebrow at him. “His name is Godric, and he is his own person.” She said this not unkindly, while still being firm. Carver nodded thoughtfully. “And how did you know?”

“You were making faces,” Carver grinned. He glanced around and then leaned towards her. Helena humoured her, leaning down towards him as well. Putting a hand to his mouth, Carver whispered, “I’ve always wanted to be a Rider. I even touched that blue dragon egg the pretty elf brought, but it didn’t hatch.” He grimaced at that.

Helena chuckled and squatted down, so she was at eye-level with him. “While it is... awesome to be a Rider, it is also difficult. Having had it happen to me, I would never undo it. But if I had had the choice...”

Carver gasped. “You wouldn’t have chosen to become a Rider?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” Helena answered candidly. This was something Godric already knew (how could he not, spending as much time with her thoughts as he did), and something Helena had been ashamed of for a long while. “But I do know that there are just as many things that you can grow up to be that will not be as... demanding.”

“Maybe,” Carver conceded. “I just always wanted to meet a dragon. And fly with one!”

“Well,” Helena chuckled, “maybe Godric will take you flying once.”

“What?” Carver exclaimed.

‘ _What!?’_ it also came from Godric. Helena rolled her eyes at his melodramatic ways.

“Maybe,” Helena reinforced, not promising anything. Still, the hope had been lit in Carver’s eyes. At the very least he could meet Godric.

Entering the library, Carver looked slightly hesitant. A few dwarves glanced up at them, but no-one said anything to Carver being there. The kid also soon noticed, and the tenseness in his shoulders disappeared. Helena smiled softly at that, before turning to one of the bookcases.

She ran her fingers over them, and like the runes below the kings and queens in Hrothgar’s throne-cave, they were in the Latin alphabet. Well, more or less; there were minor differences, like a straight line going through the ‘o’ (which Helena actually was pretty sure had also been the case on Earth in the past), and some of the straight lines were a bit more wobbly.

Helena frowned deeply. She hadn’t really paid much attention to it, but it was strange that not only the humans, but also the dwarves of Alagaësia wrote with an alphabet which not only looked incredibly similar to the Latin alphabet, but which also more or less (less because of the way the dwarves pronounced things) had the same sounds associated with the same letters. Even more so, the human language, apart from some terminology, was English. It was a slight startle that Helena realised that Angela’s story about her pops wasn’t the first clue she had found of a connection between Earth and Alagaësia; the first clue that Helena had been shown, even if she wasn’t aware at the time, was the language and the alphabet.

The witch-turned away from the books, deciding it was a mystery to solve for another time (if it indeed could be solved). Besides, these books, while in an alphabet she could read, were written in the dwarven language, and thus incomprehensible to her. But with the Varden living here, there had to be some books in the human tongue.

A quick question to one of the librarians there, and she was pointed towards a section of the library with books written in the human language (which she still called English in her mind). Still, the library was much more extensive than even she had first thought, and she glanced at Carver, who was still trailing behind her (her guards still trailing even more behind him).

“Will you be able to find your way out again, Carver?” Helena voiced her concern.

“Can’t I stay with you?” Carver asked.

Helena raised an eyebrow. “You do realise what takes place in a library, yes? I will be reading. It will very likely be boring for you.”

Carver looked down onto the floor and shrugs. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be.”

Sympathy again washed over Helena, and she sighed. “Fine, you can stay. But only if you don’t disturb anyone here.”

Carver quickly nodded in agreement.

Making to the section of the library in question, Helena soon found books on dwarven culture and customs. Bringing a stack to the table where Carver was already sitting, Helena handed him a few pieces of paper and a chunk of charcoal to draw with. The kid got right into it, making Helena chuckle. She sat down across from him and was soon absorbed in her books, writing down notes with a quill and ink. This was good for her. It (like many other things the last couple of days) reminded her of home.

Carver behaved, though he did ask questions here and there about what she was reading. She calmly answered his questions without looking up from her books. She didn’t mind terribly, and the company was excellent.

“You’re not like the others in the Varden,” Carver then suddenly commented. “Not like the humans or the dwarves.”

That caused Ruby Rider to look up from her book. She was currently reading about the dwarven religion that Angela had hinted a bit towards.

“I _am_ a Rider,” Helena pointed out.

“Nah, it’s not that,” Carver dismissed with so much certainty that Helena almost broke down laughing. How he could be so sure she had no idea.

Helena chuckled. “Well, if you must know, I am not fully human.”

Carver’s eyes widened. “Are you a half-breed?”

Helena frowned. “No-one has quite put it like that. But that is not a kind term, Carver.” She had lived through Hagrid, Remus, Firenze, and Fleur being called that. She wouldn’t stand for it here.

Carver had the decency to look bashful. “Sorry.”

Helena just nodded at that. “Even then, I don’t think that term describes my kind well. We _are_ human, but we are also more.” That was what Helena figured, anyway; she couldn’t be sure. Besides, more didn’t mean better.

“Your kind?”

“Wizardkind,” Helena smiled warmly. And then she put her book to the side for now and began telling Carver about the Wizarding World.

 

~ BWaC ~

Helena let out a groan of pleasure as she leaned back and closed her eyes in the nearly scalding water. She had been told that the water originated from large underwater reservoirs, but the dwarves apparently had a way of heating it up. Honestly, after all she had learned about the short and stout race, she wasn’t surprised; they seemed to be very inventive. She doubted it was by geothermal energy, however; the earth would be a bit too unstable to settle and dig in she would think.

After spending the afternoon in the library with Carver, Helena had decided it was time for another bath. She had already bathed once the morning after she had met with King Hrothgar, so to the people of Alagaësia it might seem excessive. Back home, while the witch-turned-Dragon Rider _did_ miss a bath here and there, generally she showered the first thing in the morning. It was something to get used to after arriving in Alagaësia, to be able to smell her own body odour (and, Merlin, other’s!). Helena knew she couldn’t go back to her old routine here in Tronjheim, but she could bathe every few days anyhow – and she planned to.

The dwarven baths were communal. This was understandable as it would be a nightmare if every single room (or close to anyway) needed to have plumbing. At the moment Helena was alone, though she had no aversion to bathing with others; she had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team for six years and had showered with several girls frequently.

The room that contained the baths was a giant half-dome, the floors and wall being cut at an angle on the side on which one entered the room, but which smoothed together at the other end. The half-dome was decorated by a giant mural made up of different materials and a few precious stones here and there; they reflected quite beautifully the light of the white and green Erisdar, adding to the sparkling that was caused by the reflection in the water. The pool was filled up by a small outlet opposite the entrance which could almost be mistaken for a small waterfall and was removed again by a few grates in the floor. There was no built-in edge for the pool, the floor instead being angled downwards slightly from one wall to the other; with the disturbance the outlet caused the small pool, the water gently lapped against the floor. Alongside the curved half-dome wall, a bench was cut into the stone, thus half of it being above water and half of it being underwater, and a couple of small holes were cut into the wall above the bench through which a gentle breeze flowed through.

All in all, the baths were a masterpiece, and Helena had already spent close to thirty minutes there and had no intentions of getting out anytime soon.

The creaking of the door caused Helena to open her eyes and look up. It was a human woman who had entered the baths, and quite a woman at that. Around Helena’s age, the woman had the same ebony-skin tone Ajihad (along with a number of other individuals within the Varden) possessed which almost gleamed in the reflection of the Erisdar and was near unblemished. Her hair was styled up in elaborate braids and curls, which Helena had understood from Angelina Johnson was to manage the frizzy hair (admittedly, Helena had limited knowledge of the matter). Her eyes moved around the baths before falling on Helena, revealing warm hazel-brown eyes. A warm smile spread on the woman’s lips as she started moving towards the witch-turned-Dragon Rider, stark naked as they both were.

Helena couldn’t help it; she began feeling a bit insecure standing beside this vision of a near-goddess. Objectively, Helena knew she was attractive, beautiful even, but her body wasn’t perfect. Throughout the years, Helena had also fallen victim to several injuries which not even magical means were able to heal; dragon (or wyvern, whatever) fire and basilisk venom to name two. Put that together with the media at large beginning to objectify her body around the time she turned fourteen (which just happened to line up with when she would especially be in the spotlight due to the Triwizard Tournament. Fabulous!), and one would get a girl with issues about her body.

It wasn’t only the media that had been an issue, but also a fair few boys at the school. This happened especially during her Fifth Year; apparently, their thought process was (if there even was one) that if the highest officials of their country could treat her like dirt, so could they. She had been ‘brushed upon’ and a boy had ‘fallen’ only to ‘stop that fall’ by ‘accidentally’ grasping her bosom. Professor McGonagall’s hand had been forced by how... violently Helena had put the boys in their place, and had given Helena a fair few detentions; the old teacher didn’t disapprove, though, and Helena was allowed to sit quietly and study during the evenings with detention.

It was quite ironic that Helena, being as prideful as she was in her person, could be so insecure about her body.

“Lady Potter, I presume?” the woman said as she sat down a few feet to the left of Helena.

Helena snorted. “Not that hard to guess, with the guards waiting outside of the baths is it? They’re like a page screaming loudly ‘Here goes the unbound Rider’.”

“Perhaps,” the woman chuckled.

“And just call me Helena, please,” Helena requested. “I get enough of titles from the officials, pages, guards, and yadda, yadda, yadda.” Yes, Helena quite liked being a Potter, and she used the titles that came with it to her advantage, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t get old – fast.

“Helena it is then,” the woman inclined her head. “I am Nasuada.”

That caused Helena’s eyebrows to rise. “Ajihad’s daughter?”

“Indeed,” Nasuada confirmed. “My father mentioned me?”

“In passing,” Helena shrugged.

“Hmm, unusual,” was Nasuada’s comment to that. Her eyes then roamed over Helena’s body, almost as if having heard her insecurities from before. It took quite much for Helena not to squirm under the ebony-skinned woman’s gaze.

Nasuada’s eyes widened just minutely as she took in some of the scars spread across Helena’s body, most prominently, the one on the witch-turned-Dragon Rider’s left arm from the basilisk bite, and the slight webbing from the dragon fire on her back and right side.

Quite in defiance of her insecurities, Helena actually wasn’t ashamed of her scars. She wasn’t particularly proud of them either (why anyone would be proud of scars Helena would never know), but they were a part of her; they told her story, and they were proof that she was alive and that she had lived instead of dying.

It was still a relief that Nasuada didn’t bring the subject of the scars up.

Up closer to Nasuada, Helena also spotted the muscle the Varden woman had. It was quite similar to the kind of muscle Helena possessed, and the Ruby Rider wouldn’t be surprised if it were revealed that Nasuada knew how to fight. Helena noted, however, that with both of them naked here, Nasuada wouldn’t stand a chance. And then the witch-turned-Dragon Rider winced mentally; pride doth come before the fall. It was a lesson Helena had to remind herself, as she had pride in spades.

“I heard about your meeting with my father,” Nasuada commented casually.

Helena hummed. She wasn’t surprised; either Ajihad leaked the conversation himself to spread discord, or some in the Council did (again, either to sow discord against Helena or to sow discord against Ajihad as a leader). Helena tilted her head slightly towards Nasuada. “And what is your opinion of it?”

“The Varden is far from perfect, but it has been the sole hope for the people of the Empire and Surda. The sole hope for a life away from that underneath the yoke of Galbatorix’s influence,” Nasuada answered without missing a beat. Helena’s lips twitched; it seemed that she was not the only one who was prideful.

“It might have been,” Helena conceded. “But what if there was another option? What if there was a better option?” This was, of course, a reference to her not-so-veiled threat.

“Many would join you,” Nasuada answered, not even pretending that they weren’t talking about Helena striking out on her own. “Just as many, however, would be spurred to join the Varden instead, or even join the Empire’s ranks. You creating a faction to stand against the Black King would be seen by many as just another Rider grabbing for power. People would join the Varden as the only faction not lead by an immortal. People would join the Empire because the evil you know is better than the evil you don’t.”

Helena frowned lightly as she mulled that over. She honestly hadn’t considered that. “If that is your argument, wouldn’t the same be true if I joined the Varden? That people would join the Empire’s ranks willingly.”

“Perhaps,” Nasuada gave. “But it wouldn’t be as bad. The Varden would be controlling a Rider, not the other way around.”

Helena’s temper immediately flared, and a jar of soap nearby shattered with force. Nasuada jumped up in shock and surprised, wide-eyed and more than just slightly wary. Surprisingly, there was no fear to be spotted in her face. Helena hadn’t moved an inch.

“I will not be controlled,” Helena retaliated forcefully what she had stated multiple times since arriving at Farthen Dûr. “People might see me as dangerous for that, but I will not be a puppet. I would be just as dangerous if I were, but the control would be in somebody else’s hand – and there are very few people that I would entrust such powers to.”

Nasuada slowly sat down again. “I make no illusions that the Varden would be able to control you. But that is the way that it would look to the common folk, and maybe some of the aristocracies.”

Helena nodded slowly at that. “What is your opinion of me?”

Ajihad’s daughter tilted her head slightly as she looked Helena up and down. “I’m not quite sure yet,” Nasuada answered candidly. Her eyes then wandered to the shattered jar. “You clearly have power and irrefutable influence in everything you do and do not and even are. I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing for the Varden. And from what I’ve seen so far, you are not afraid to display what you are able to do, but neither do you seem to harm anyone without cause. The soldiers that you battled when you first arrived at the gates, none of them needed to recuperate for more than a day. Their prides are wounded, but nothing more.” Nasuada then smirked. “Besides that, I don’t know if I can entirely disapprove of someone who is able to put the twins in their place.”

Helena barked out a laugh at that answer. The twins seemed to be some of the most universally disliked persons within the Varden.

“My turn,” Nasuada then said. “What is your opinion of the Varden?”

“I respect what the Varden are trying to do,” Helena answered just as candidly as Nasuada. “We had a comparable situation back home, and I personally know the hardships that come with resisting such evil.” Nasuada’s interest was definitely peaked at the reference to Earth (knowledge of her claim of otherworldly heritage had spread far and wide since her meeting with the King Under the Mountain) but didn’t interrupt her.  “Brom, the few times he spoke of the Varden, praised them highly. That said, the first time I met you, you attacked me. And when I spoke to Ajihad, his first instinct was to get me under the Varden’s control. So as for my opinion of the Varden... The jury’s still out.”

“The what is out?” Nasuada asked.

Helena blinked. “Oh, I apologise. It is a figure of speech, which means that I haven’t decided yet. It is derived from our justice system back home; two parties argue in front of a judge and a jury. The judge makes sure the rules are followed, and the jury is a group of peers. After the two parties are done arguing their case, the jury secludes until they have arrived at a verdict.”

“Remarkable,” Nasuada commented.

“Yeah. I guess it really is,” Helena agreed with a soft smile.

“In any case,” Nasuada said, standing up. “Your answer is understandable. I do hope that the Varden can prove it can be a good ally to have. And likewise, I hope you prove to be a trustworthy defender of the people as well.”

Helena inclined her head. “I guess we’ll see.”

Nasuada nodded at that, and then turned about and began to wade through the water towards the door.

Helena wasn’t fooled; Nasuada hadn’t been there to bathe, but instead to judge Helena. Whether it was for herself or for her father was an unknown, but either way, Ajihad was sure to hear of what his daughter had observed and learned.

The witch-turned-Dragon Rider glanced over at the shattered jar of soap and quickly repaired it with a Mending Charm.

~ BWaC ~

It was on her way back to the Dragonhold from the baths that Helena ran across a certain black werecat.

“Hello, Solembum,” Helena greeted pleasantly. “All is well, I hope?”

Solembum simply stared at her, blinked, and then turned about and started walking lazily in the opposite direction. Helena didn’t even have to consult Godric, merely following the werecat. She followed him for close to ten minutes, as he ran upstairs and through several hallways, before finally stopping outside of a pair of wooden doors in a remote corner of Tronjheim. Helena knocked on the door three times before entering.

Inside sat Angela in a plush chair, a book in her hand. All around her were crates, some of them open, some of them still shut. In the few which were open, Helena could spot knick-knacks which she immediately recognised from the herbalist’s shop in Teirm.

“Merlin! How in the world have you managed to get all of this here?” Helena couldn’t help but exclaim. Angela looked up in surprise but smiled as she spotted Helena.

“You know, I still think Melvin is a better name,” Angela responded with a twinkle in her eyes. Helena’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “As for how I got my possessions to me; I sent it ahead. I still haven’t unpacked yet, as you can see.”

“By ship?” Helena asked as she moved into the room. She sat down in the only other chair which was free. “Wasn’t that risky with how the pirates are about?”

“Despite the sentimental value some of these things have, only very few of them are priceless,” Angela explained. “Those few items I brought with me on my person.”

“Clever.”

Angela’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of clever, I simply _must_ congratulate you on how you handled the twins. Glorious, I tell you. Glorious! I saw one of them walking by the other day and was about to run down another tunnel, but he didn’t seem to notice me at all. Instead, he was very concerned about a ferret in his hands! My dear, you truly made my week – no, year!”

“I would’ve done worse, but Godric convinced me otherwise,” Helena revealed. Angela tilted her head. “They _shattered_ Godric’s wing-sockets. It took me forever to heal.”

Angela grimaced angrily. “That does sound like something the two of them would do.”

“My experience in Alagaësian magic is limited, but I am correct in believing that simply dislocating the wings, or even breaking the bones cleanly, would’ve taken much less energy?”

“You are,” Angela confirmed. “The twins are vile. They lead a group of magicians here in the Varden, you know. ‘Du Vrangr Gata’ it’s named.”

“The something path?” Helena tried to decipher the name.

“It’s ‘The Wandering Path’ in the common tongue,” Angela nodded. “The name itself betrays their ignorance; it is syntactically incorrect. In the Ancient Language, the name should properly be ‘Du Gata Vrangr’. Pah!”

“I take it you don’t hold them in high esteem?” Helena chuckled.

Angela narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’re laughing now. Just wait until they begin to ‘court’ you. Never mind the horrible twins that lead them, they are a pathetic excuse for magicians. They have a handful of words in the Ancient Language, and are always clamouring and clawing to gather more, only to hoard them.”

Helena frowned. “That doesn’t sound much unlike what I’ve been told about the elves.”

“In a way,” Angela conceded.

Helena then sat by as Angela went on about everything and nothing. She joined in on the conversations now and again by answering the odd question the Alagaësian witch would shoot at her. It was... good. Judging by a look that crossed Angela’s face, the herbalist seemed to know what effect she was having on Helena. It was good to know that she and Godric had at least one ally while separate from Eragon, Saphira, and Brom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter seventeen. These last three chapters – chapter fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen – was what I had originally planned to only be in chapter fifteen. That would have been a monster; near 32k words to be exact.  
> I’m not entirely happy with the first scene (the one with Ajihad). I had to rewrite it a couple of times, and still, it’s not like the scene with Hrothgar where I just knew I had hit the spot. While there are moments I am really happy with (“What veil?), to me it just wasn’t as effortless as the Hrothgar scene.  
> While I had planned for Helena and Nasuada to meet in this chapter for a while, that it took place while bathing is inspired by Najex’s story.  
> This will also be the last chapter for a while, which will be out at latest a fortnight after the previous chapter. My summer holidays end the fourteenth of August, so I want to spend the last fourteen days before school start-up on preparing for just that. That doesn’t mean that I won’t write at all because I simply cannot stop writing, but it does mean that the updates for the next while will be a bit inconsistent. I’m hoping to get back on a schedule as fast as possible because I want to finish this book so I can take a small break for real. So there’s that.  
> And then I want to thank you all for the massive feedback I got for chapter sixteen. I mean, wow! Forty reviews it has gotten as I’m writing this. I’m blown away by it. Fortunately, people seem to have loved reading it as much as I loved writing it. So, thank you!  
> Synthesis  
> *  
> (03-04-2018 Note): I just want to say that I’m still here. The whole story have been betaed now, and I’ll slowly begin to write the finishing chapters. I won’t be uploading before they’re all written, but then they will be uploaded consistently on a weekly basis.  
> Synthesis


	18. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “While I can’t say that we’re pleased, we do respect that you won’t bare your mind to one of our magicians,” Ajihad explained. Mentally, Helena rolled her eyes; as if they had a choice. “We will, therefore, settle for a vow.”  
> Before Helena had a chance to respond, the twins stepped forward and well within to her personal space. “Now, repeat after me-.”  
> Helena cast a nonverbal silencing charm on him before he could speak another word and faced Ajihad. “Do you honestly take me for a fool? Are you trying to stab me in the back while shaking my hand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

It had been two additional days before Ajihad had requested Helena’s presence again, three days since their first meeting. And, yes, the page had told her that Ajihad had requested her presence, not summoned her. The man did learn, after all, it seemed.

Helena wasn’t blind to the fact that she might’ve acted a bit unrelenting – perhaps even a bit unreasonable. It all boiled down to her damned pride. But the whole situation with the Varden was one of those events where there just wasn’t one good solution; there were many different ways to do things, each with their own benefits and drawbacks. For better or worse, Helena had chosen to stick by her pride, come what may. She was consistent if nothing else.

Helena had been surprised that it hadn’t taken Ajihad and the Council longer to come to a consensus. She hadn’t been idle since arriving in Tronjheim, keeping her ear out for conversations and such. It hadn’t taken long to learn that Angela hadn’t overstated the internal fracturing in the Varden caused by politicking. From what she had overheard, she had at first thought it wasn’t quite unlike the political landscape back home; different “political parties” each with their own agenda and such. But that wasn’t quite it, as the head of the Varden wasn’t democratically elected, but more like a monarch with absolute power. With that said, that absolute power didn’t except him from the consequences, and if he wanted to keep the consequences as small as possible, he would keep the Council happy.

Now, each council member didn’t have a political party as such, but had a lot of supporters. It was these supporters that secured the council members position on the council; they did favours for the council member, who in turn championed causes that the supporters thought important. Because of that, people of similar station ended up grouping together in which council member they supported.

Unlike with her first meeting with Ajihad, Helena arrived at his office in a timely manner. She still took her time to get ready, and she didn’t drop everything she was doing to rush at his beck and call (which, really, she couldn’t call it when he had requested her presence), but it was no more than thirty minutes after the page had spoken to her that she stood outside the door to Ajihad’s office. In the city-mountain, with its vast size, that was indeed timely.

She looked to the guard to the left who nodded not unfriendly to her. Rapping twice on the door, she entered before Ajihad responded. Hey, she might have arrived promptly, but she didn’t want him to get the impression that she was proper or anything.

“Ajihad,” Helena greeted neutrally as she put eyes on the dark man, and, a moment later, when she spotted his daughter behind him, “Nasuada.”

“Lady Potter,” Ajihad’s greeted in return. Nasuada settled with a nod and a small smile. As he did so, some of the tenseness in his shoulders left him; he had been prepared to wait a lot longer for her. Helena understood why he had been tense a moment later, when she took in the rest of the office’s occupants.

“This is the Council of Elders,” Ajihad introduced. “Sabrae, Elessari, Umérth, Falberd, and Jörmundur.”

Helena’s eyes swept over them. None of them were downright elderly, but they were all up to or approaching their fifties. It was probably also because of them that the office was currently filled to the brim with guards. Helena almost felt like snorting out loud: as if they would be able to stop her if she decided to off the Varden leadership then and there. The only one of them that didn’t seem to suppress a seething contempt was Jörmundur.

“Charmed,” Helena greeted them shortly.

“And of course, you’ve met the twins,” Ajihad continued, motioning behind her by the door. Helena suppressed the urge to respond with “Who?” and settled with a slight quirking of her left eyebrow. The ferret and his brother didn’t deserve a greeting.

Only with the greetings over and done with did Helena turn to the twins when Ajihad nodded over her shoulder. The human twin all but glowered at her and, for a moment, seemed to be contemplating refusing Ajihad’s nonverbal order. Then a slight squeak from the ferret in his hands sounded, and his eyes flew down to it. He took a settling breath, and looking like he swallowed a sherbet lemon, stepped forward.

“Lady Potter, I apologise for our behaviour in the tunnels. My brother and I overstepped our bounds.” The twin got more and more red in the face as he spoke. The apology was far from sincere, but it was there.

Instead of feeling grateful or relief at the apology, seeing the twins again just filled Helena with acidic rage, and it showed in her souring face. These were the ones who had broken Godric’s wings. These were the ones who had shattered his sockets. If it were up to her, she would return the favour. But…

Helena waved her hand at the ferret, her Gedwëy Insignia glowing as she did so, and turned to face Ajihad again before the transfiguration was complete. The large squawk and the sound of someone falling in a heap told her it had been successful – not that she had felt any doubt – but she gave them no attention.

“Have you considered my terms?” Helena asked Ajihad specifically. In the periphery, she saw some of the council members shift. Mentally she frowned; they were up to something.

“We have,” Ajihad nodded. He let the silence hang in the room just a moment longer than necessary before continuing. “We accept your terms to engage in an equal partnership between yourself and the Varden.”

A greater wave of relief than Helena had expected washed over her. She would really not have liked to start her own resistance group.

Helena, of course, didn’t tell this. She instead inclined her head towards Ajihad. “I’m pleased. This is sure to benefit us both.”

“Indeed,” Ajihad responded with a quirk of his lip. It was only for a second, but it was there. “While we can discuss the details and the form of the assistance that you’re willing to lend the Varden, and what you expect in return for said assistance, at a later date, something else takes precedence. The Varden needs concrete proof that you aren’t our enemy.”

“Of course,” it came from Helena unsurprised. “What would you have of me?”

“While I can’t say that we’re pleased, we do respect that you won’t bare your mind to one of our magicians,” Ajihad explained. Mentally, Helena rolled her eyes; as if they had a choice. “We will, therefore, settle for a vow.”

Before Helena had a chance to respond, one of the twins stepped forward and well within to her personal space. “Now, repeat after me-.”

Helena cast a nonverbal silencing charm on him before he could speak another word and faced Ajihad. “Do you honestly take me for a fool? Are you trying to stab me in the back while shaking my hand?”

“Lady Potter, I assure you-,” Ajihad began. Helena cut him off.

“No, I assure you, if this is what I can expect from the Varden, I’m not even going to try and cooperate,” Helena told him angrily. “Do you honestly think that I’m going to repeat anything the ferret and his brother – the very two people responsible for the tenseness of our relationship – say in the Ancient Language, when I’m not proficient in it myself?”

The Council began to shift again, and the one named Sabrae spoke up. “You speak honeyed words of cooperation, but at each chance you are given to prove yourself sincere, you fail spectacularly. What are your intentions, then?”

“Sabrae,” another councilmember, Jörmundur, voiced sharply. “Know your place.”

The councilmembers began descending into bickering, quickly deciding to all but ignore Helena’s presence. Helena looked unimpressed around the room; this was the leadership of the Varden. It was just as she had thought that, that her eyes again landed on Ajihad. He sat quietly observing the councilmembers, and, more importantly, her. No, she decided, _that_ was the leadership of the Varden.

Ajihad didn’t strike Helena as a man who would use underhanded means to get her cooperation. Well, politically she wouldn’t put it past him if she was candid, but certainly not magically. However, from only spending a few minutes in the same room with the Council of Elders, she wouldn’t put it past them to have convinced the twins to sneak a few more binding words into the oath than what had been agreed on – and after Helena’s actions towards them, the twins really wouldn’t need much convincing.

The bickering continued for a minute more before Helena quirked an eyebrow at the leader of the Varden.

“Silence,” Ajihad spoke sternly, but without raising his voice. And just like that, from one moment to the other, the room was quiet again. Helena made note of that; while the council itself was fractured, evidently Ajihad did have sufficient control of it. Ajihad’s eyes landed on her again, momentarily flickering to the twins – more specifically the twin who was red in the face in his attempt to shout. “Lady Potter, if you’d please.”

“If I must,” Helena complied, dispelling the silencing charm from the twin.

“ _You crooked-nosed knave, I-_ ,” the twin began ranting at her, a bit of spittle flying at her.

“Silence,” Ajihad repeated. The twin’s jaw snapped shut as if by magic (if only, Helena wished), but his face only grew redder. Ajihad then turned to Helena. “If you refuse the twin’s help in constructing the oath, what would you then suggest, Lady Potter? We have other magicians in the Varden, but none as practised as the twins. They, however, have not shown any hostility towards you as far as I am aware.”

“You are talking about the members of Du Vrangr Gata?” Helena inquired, to which Ajihad nodded. “Then I would have to say no, thank you. The twins lead Du Vrangr Gata, and not too kindly from what I understand. No, what I’m suggesting is a neutral party: Angela.”

Angela’s name had barely left Helena’s lips before the twins flew into another frenzy, spewing insults towards the herbalist and Helena alike. Helena’s patience with the twins was growing thinner by the minute.

“You two will stop waggling your tongues like that if you do not wish to start choking on them!” Helena threatened. And while she might not leave them to choke to death, she wasn’t past depriving them of oxygen until unconsciousness. _Might._

The twins were clearly about to retort, but it seemed Ajihad’s patience was wearing thin as well.

“Enough!” Ajihad commanded the twins, and then turned to Helena. “And, Lady Potter, such threats will help neither of us.” Helena almost retorted that they were the one to start it but settled with inclining her head. Ajihad took a settling breath, “You’re suggesting that Angela constructs the oath?”

“I am,” Helena confirmed. “She already constructed a similar oath before taking me to the Varden. You obviously trust her – or trust her enough – to let her wander around as she pleases. I, too, trust Angela. And, if anything, you have the ferret and his brother here to confirm Angela’s oath.”

At how Helena referred to the twins, Ajihad seemed to twitch. He, too, was choosing his battles it seemed.

Slowly, Ajihad began to nod. “That is agreeable. But while I have heard whispers of her return to Farthen Dûr, I have no idea where she is.”

“I do,” Helena smirked. And before they could react, Helena had raised her marked hand. “Expecto Patronum.” Several curses and yelps were uttered, along with the sound of several swords being unsheathed, as the silvery light spewed from her mark to coalesce into her patronus; a great winged hippogriff.

Helena let the feelings of hope and safety, that her patronus brought, flow through her for a moment before she spoke up. “Angela, I am in Ajihad’s office. I would request your assistance once again in constructing an oath. Helena.”

The hippogriff bowed to her before reforming into a glowing orb the size of a fist, which then shot out through the wooden door to find Angela. The guards outside yelped in surprise and burst into the office not a moment later.

Everyone stood stunned, looking at Helena with wide eyes. The soldiers, not one of them having their sword in their sheath anymore, looked uncertain about what to do.

Ajihad was the first one to gather his wits and voiced what everyone was thinking. “What was that?”

“A patronus. They are a personal spirit guardian of sorts,” Helena explained, knowing that if she became too technical, she would lose them all too quickly. “Originally they were only used to guard against non-beings such as dementors and lethifolds. In later years, they have also been used as a method of communication.” Well, really it was only the Order of the Phoenix who used them – and indeed knew the secret of how to use them – as a means of communication; they were much safer than other means of communication, as they were able to identify the caster and were Dark Arts-proof – exactly what one would need when fighting against dark wizards and witches.

“Spirit guardian? You have tamed a spirit?” Nasuada asked, sounding both intrigued and unnerved. Helena quirked an eyebrow in surprise; she didn’t think that Nasuada would know anything about magic. Given, Helena wasn’t one to talk, as she, herself, was limited in her knowledge of Alagaësian magic to what she had read in Jeod’s library and had learned from Brom.

“Not a spirit as you know it,” Helena shook her head. “The patronus represents that which is hidden, unknown but necessary within the personality. When a human is confronted with inhuman evil, such as a non-being, they must draw upon resources he or she may never have needed: the patronus is the awakened secret self that lies dormant until needed. So, in a sense, it’s a taming of my own spirit.”

Jörmundur cleared his throat. “Lady Potter, I hope I do not offend you when I ask this, but there are certain rumours flying about. It is said that in your audience with King Hrothgar, that you claimed an otherworldly heritage; is this true?”

“Is it true that it is said? Or is it true that I claimed an otherworldly heritage?” Helena inquired, with a quirk of her lip.

The dark man’s face soured. “The latter.”

“Then yes, it is true. I am not from Alagaësia, or indeed this world,” Helena confirmed. “My home world is called Earth, and my home is a country called England.”

The council muttered to itself.

“How did you travel here?” Ajihad asked.

“Well, that is the big question, isn’t it?” Helena laughed humourlessly. Then she sighed deeply. “I have not the faintest idea. I spent the first month after arriving here trying to determine my whereabouts and how to get home. I can confirm that this is not Earth, but that the sky and constellations are completely the same. I am hoping the elves might know more.”

“And what about your dragon?” Sabrae asked.

Helena shot her an annoyed glare. “ _Godric_ appeared with me. I appeared in the Spine, items scattered around me. Godric’s egg was one of those items. I took it with me when I travelled south, where I eventually came upon Teirm. He hatched for me there.”

The questions continued from there. Some questions Helena answered truthfully, others more vaguely. She eventually began telling of her journey from Teirm to Dras-Leona, how she became separated from Eragon and Brom (that was more vaguely told), and how she met up with Angela. They were all very interested in Brom and Eragon, but other than confirming that she had travelled with them, Helena outright refused to talk about them. While Ajihad was growing more trustworthy by the minute, and Jörmundur as well, there was no way in hell that she was sharing more sensitive knowledge with the twins – nor with the rest of the Council of Elders.

She was saved from another round of arguments with the Council (but for Jörmundur), when someone rapped on the door thrice.

“Enter,” it came from Ajihad.

And Angela entered. The bushy-haired herbalist looked curiously at Helena. Then she caught sight of the twins, and her look turned more cross. Helena winced and mouthed an apology.

“Angela,” Ajihad greeted with a smile. “I had heard that you’d returned. I take it you’re settling in alright?”

“Ajihad! Well, now that you’re asking, there’s a draft in my room that just won’t seem to go away, and three mice are obsessing about whether or not the moon spins or rolls every night,” Angela told him in all seriousness. “But I must say, when I’ve previously visited, there’s been a significant rat problem – not this time though. I heard you got a ferret to nip that problem in the bud?”

Helena didn’t even try to hide her snort, even as she could all but feel the twins seething behind her. Angela joined her in her mirth, her own lips twitching. Ajihad was less amused, and shot the herbalist a deadpanned look.

“Don’t be so serious, Ajihad, you’ll wrinkle prematurely. How do you think I keep my young look?” Angela quipped. Then shook her head. “But I digress. I take it you’re aware of what Helena has requested of me?”

“Indeed. Lady Potter wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“Indeed!” Angela exclaimed and turned to Helena. “When you have the time, you truly must give me some details.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Helena told Angela candidly. Angela’s eyes twinkled.

“Are you able to help, then?” Ajihad asked of the herbalist.

“Of course, it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle,” Angela answered.

“From my standpoint, starting with the oath I gave you would be a good starting point,” Helena told Angela. “Do you remember the wording?”

Angela scoffed. “You insult me, Helena. I’m old, not senile.” She paused. “A bit crazy in the morning, though, so it might’ve started.”

“You mentioned the oath before, but not its contents. How is the oath constructed?” Ajihad inquired.

“I swore to Angela that I do not believe myself to be an enemy of the Varden, that I am looking for allies in the fight against Galbatorix, that I am looking to dispose Galbatorix and liberate his subjects. I swore that as long as the Varden held the same goals as I just stated, and fights for the freedom of all races from Galbatorix’s tyranny, and not just the freedom of humans, I will not harm the Varden. I also swore that if the Varden begins to show the tendencies of the enemy, or begins to arse around and become corrupted, then all bets are off. Finally, I only bound myself to the oath until the Oath-Breaker is dethroned.”

As expected, as soon as she had finished, the council voiced their displeasure. It only reinforced Helena’s belief that they had been up to something. She had no proof, but she was trusting her gut.

“You are putting in a lot of conditions in the oath,” Umérth spoke up. “Why not simply swear that you’re loyal to the Varden?”

“Because I’m not,” Helena answered bluntly. Umérth was about to retort, but Helena beat him to it. “I’ve known about the Varden for only a few months and been with the Varden only a few days. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I distrust the Varden, but it will take a long time before I would candidly be able to say that I trust you – even longer to say that you have my loyalty. I do not know your exact plans of actions in the war against Galbatorix, and I am not in the habit of blindly following anyone.”

“Then why not just swear not to harm the Varden?” Jörmundur then asked.

Helena quirked an eyebrow at the dark man. “Because if you begin slaughtering innocents in the name of your cause, I won’t hesitate to stand up to you just as I’m standing up to Galbatorix.”

“The Varden is not in the habit of doing such things,” Jörmundur told her almost gently.

“I believe you, that it is the truth now. But who knows how long this war will take? Ajihad, you might make sure such things don’t happen. But what about your successor? Or their successor? How can you promise that such a thing will never happen, when, if the war is still ongoing in fifty years, someone who perhaps isn’t even born yet is sitting where you are sitting right now?”

While the Council of Elders looked more and more displeased as she spoke, she could see the approval growing in Ajihad’s eyes. He might not be able to verbalise it, but it is enough for Helena to know it’s there – it is telling of the man.

“Very well, I will accept such a vow,” Ajihad agreed despite the council’s protests. “Angela, would you recite it so that the twins can confirm it?”

It didn’t take long after that for the oath to be given. The twins didn’t look to be having a grand day, having to, of all things, assist Angela. Angela, on the other hand, spoke in slow clear tones and made every effort into showing how inferior she believed the twins to be without being glaringly obvious. Reluctantly, the twins confirmed the oath’s contents, after which Helena uttered it in front of Ajihad.

“… Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shurtugal,” Helena finished in the same way she had when she had given the oath to Angela. _Upon my word as a Rider._

“Thank you,” Ajihad told her sincerely. Relief shone from his eyes, and it looked as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He turned to Angela, “And thank you.”

“Of course,” Angela winked, mock bowing in front of him with a flair of her hand. Then, not awaiting any other response, she started whistling a chipper tune as she turned and walked out of the office.

“I will never get used to her,” Jörmundur stated blandly.

Ajihad chuckled but didn’t disagree. He faced Helena again. “As I stated at the start of the meeting, there are details that still need to be discussed, but those can wait.”

“I would prefer it to be so,” Helena agreed. “While there are things I’m more than willing to do right away, I really must wait on Eragon first. He is the senior Rider by way of tradition. And as the last two Free Riders, our destinies are bound together.”

“Understood. In either case, that can wait for another day or two. I have other responsibilities that need attending now that your oath has been given.” He pauses and then tilts his head. “I apologise if this comes out of the blue, but have you been spending times with the orphans? Especially one by the name of Carver?”

Helena blinked. “I have. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ajihad assured her. “More than fine. From what I’ve heard, they’ve been greatly enjoying themselves. Carver especially.”

Helena smiled. “He is a good kid and has been a great help.”

Ajihad nodded slowly. “Would you object to having him assigned to you? Not as a ward, don’t worry, but as a page? He will carry my summons if there are any, and will be able to help you find your way around Tronjheim?”

“Not at all. As long as he doesn’t. Though, he will benefit from it as well, won’t he?”

“He will get paid and will be assigned a room close to yours,” Ajihad assured her.

“Hmm,” Helena mused, then sighed. “Then I guess I really must choose a room, won’t I? Wouldn’t be fair for Carver to have him run to the Dragonhold each time I’m needed.”

Ajihad chuckled. “Indeed.”

~ BWaC ~

All in all, things didn’t change much after Helena had given her oath. She lost her dwarven entourage, which she was a bit sad about, and she wasn’t restricted from certain areas of Tronjheim anymore. She had also moved to a chamber halfway up Tronjheim instead of just staying in the Dragonhold with Godric; it was still plenty far away from the hustle and bustle of the Varden proper, but not so far away that Carver had a hard time when she was sent for. For Helena herself, the location wasn’t such a concern, as she was getting the hang of apparating almost without effort also in Alagaësia. But other than that? Things very much had stayed the same.

Helena spent much of her time in the library. Jeod’s library had been impressive, but it was nothing compared to the library in Tronjheim. It really was too bad that most of it was written in dwarven script, which she couldn’t read (Hmm, but that could be an idea; to learn the dwarven language. She had already learned French in the summers, and that hadn’t been too hard). She ate her meals in one of the smaller dining halls, the orphans joining her there. She told them stories of Earth and just stories and fairy tales in general. Her evenings were spent in her room, where she went through the stances of swordplay that Brom had taught her, so she didn’t grow too rusty.

Really, what she was doing could be summed quite easily; she was waiting. And that was boring at times.

So, a few days after she had given her oath, instead of turning down the hallway to the library after breakfast, she turned to her newly appointed page.

“Carver, do you know where Nasuada might be around this time?”

Carver blinked in surprise. “Lady Nasuada? She helps out around the medical clinic a lot and spends a lot of time with the merchants as well. But she also used to take every sixth day off.”

“Used to?” Helena tilted her head.

Carver shrugged. “I don’t know if she does it anymore. When the Varden isn’t too busy, she spends time with us as well. Except for every sixth day.” It wasn’t hard to figure out that the ‘us’ he referred to were the orphans.

A few inquiries with the guards and it was confirmed it was indeed the ‘sixth day’, and that Nasuada was currently in her chambers. Carver didn’t hesitate to take her there, and ten minutes later, Helena was standing in front of a perplexed Nasuada.

“Are you open for the day?” Helena asked, only taking a moment to take in the rather bland dress the daughter of Ajihad was wearing. The equivalent of sweatpants and a tee, Helena surmised.

Nasuada blinked and hesitated. “… Yes, I am.”

Helena shot a beaming smile. “Brilliant. Meet me just south of Tronjheim in an hour. Bring your sword.”

“Wait-.”

“See you there,” Helena cut off Nasuada chipperly and then turned and walked down the hall before the latter could respond.

Quickly swinging by her own chambers to grab the Sword of Gryffindor, Helena began making her way up the Endless Staircase to the Dragonhold. If it hadn’t been for Carver, she would’ve simply apparated; however, she didn’t want to expose him to how unpleasant the art of magical transportation could be, and neither did she think it fair to leave him running frantically up the stairs by himself.

Helena glanced to her side where Carver was walking contently. A small, gentle smile appeared on her lips.

‘ _You are fond of the kid_ ,’ Godric noted.

‘ _I am_ ,’ Helena admitted, seeing no reason to hide it – not that she could hide it from Godric in any case. ‘ _I’ve always known I wanted kids. Wanted a family. Mind you, I’ve never been in any hurry, and as much as I admire Molly, I could never be a stay-at-home-mum… but kids have always been in the picture when I think of the future._ ’

‘ _Are they still?_ ’ Godric asked.

Helena paused for a moment before answering. ‘ _Yeah… They are. Of course, we must survive Galbatorix, and then there is a whole continent to help recover, and I want to figure out how I appeared here… But they are very much still in the picture._ ’ Then Helena snorted, causing Carver to shoot her a look. ‘ _And now with this immortality, I’m in even less of a hurry than I was before._ ’

“Are you talking to Godric again?” Carver asked.

“Indeed,” Helena answered with a smile, ruffling his hair. Then she paused and tilted her head as an idea appeared in her mind.

‘ _No,_ ’ Godric shot down before she had even asked.

‘ _Come on, please,_ ’ Helena pressed. ‘ _You know he adores you. And it would mean a lot to me._ ’

Godric didn’t respond right away, but then grumbled, ‘ _I suppose there are worse persons I could allow to fly with me._ ’

‘ _Thank you, My Heart._ ’

It took about twenty minutes to make it up to the Dragonhold from Nasuada’s chambers, and another ten minutes to properly saddle Godric. As Helena tightened the last straps and patted Godric on the side, her page shuffled on his feet.

“When will you be back?” Carver asked her. “And where should I wait for you?”

Helena raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you would be coming with us.” It was said rather nonchalantly, and Helena had to make an effort not to let her teasing grin show.

The moment Carver put two and two together his whole face lit up. Still, he reigned it in and asked, “You mean come with you on Godric? Flying?”

It was Godric who answered him. Lowing his head to the boy, Godric looked Carver straight into his eyes. Carver stiffened immediately. He could be frozen in fear, but Helena simply thought him too stubborn.

After a moment Godric blinked, ‘ _That is correct, Little One._ ’

Helena shot Godric a dead look: she knew very well that it was on purpose he had called the kid by the name Saphira used with Eragon. His response was the equivalent of a mental shrug.

‘ _If the name fits._ ’

Helena let out a deep sigh, deciding she didn’t want to get into an argument then and there. Instead, she turned to Carver who, despite looking just the tiniest bit pale after his face-to-face-meeting with Godric, was bursting with excitement.

“Alright, are you ready?” Helena asked Carver with a huge grin.

“Yeah!” Carver exclaimed and craned his neck to look up the ruby dragon. Helena made to help him but he quickly waved her off, “I can do it!”

“Alright, then,” Helena chuckled. She quickly mounted Godric and turned to look at Carver, quirking an eyebrow at him.

The boy gulped but steeled himself and began to climb. Godric had grown quite large at six months of age, and while Helena was able to mount with little trouble, Carver was even small for his age. Evidentially, though, he was a great climber, and with Godric extending one of his legs to help with the footing, Carver was up in front of Helena in the saddle in only a few seconds.

Making quick work of strapping in Carver’s legs instead of her own – if she fell off, she could halt her descent with magic; if he fell off, it would be quite a bit harder to do –, Helena checked one last time to see if Carver was sure he wanted this. His answer was a large, excited grin, and with that, Helena gave Godric the go-ahead.

Carver gasped sharply as Godric took off, causing them to lurch back, and stiffened. His hands were holding onto the saddle with such intensity that they had become almost entirely white. However, as they took a small flight around the inside of Farthen Dûr, he began to relax a bit more. He didn’t quite pull the stunt Helena had done back in Third Year on Buckbeak, where she had spread her arms wide as they had flown over the Black Lake, but Carver indeed seemed to enjoy himself immensely.

They landed after ten minutes, still a bit before the agreed upon time to meet Nasuada. And Helena had to be patient, after all, as ‘just south of Tronjehim’ wasn’t entirely an exact location. Still, while there were hills around Tronjheim, there were none that could block the view, so Nasuada should be able to spot Godric’s large form quite easily.

Helena unstrapped Carver and helped him out of the saddle (this time he didn’t make a fuss of it), and as he landed on the ground, he fell on his back and looked blissfully up into the air.

“That. Was. _Amazing!_ ” he stated breathlessly. Then he blinked as if he only now remembered something; he turned his head and looked to Godric. “Thank you.” Godric blinked in response.

Helena mirrored her partner and blinked, but she in surprise. Then she smiled softly at Carver. People too often dismissed Godric for various reasons: they didn’t think about him being sapient; they were too scared of him to address him; or they did it on purpose to diminish him. It warmed Helena’s heart to see that Carver had enough respect to remember Godric.

To pass the time, Helena summoned a flame and began controlling the size, heat, and position in the air. She was getting more a more adept at controlling her magic through intent rather than clear incantation (verbal or non-verbal); she hadn’t quite replicated the instinct-based magic she had used in the tunnel, but she would get around to it. It didn’t take long for Carver to sit down and stare wide-eyed at the fire – and so Helena began playing different scenes.

Yeah, Helena most definitely was fond of Carver.

It took another five minutes before Nasuada arrived on a horse – not surprising with Farthen Dûr’s size. She had heeded Helena’s word and brought a sword strapped to her side, but she had gone a step further and also donned a full set of light set of armour.

Helena couldn’t help herself; she let out a bark of laughter. “We’re not going to war; the sword would’ve been enough.”

Dismounting from her horse, Nasuada frowned. “What about injuries?”

“Magic, of course.”

Nasuada stared blandly at Helena for a moment. ”Magic, of course.”

“Hello, Lady Nasuada,” Carver greeted with a toothy smile.

“Hello, Carver. It’s a pleasure as always,” Nasuada returned the greeting with a small smile. Helena quirked an eyebrow; it seemed Helena wasn’t the only one with a soft spot for Carver. A charmer, that was what he was.

“May I see your sword?” Helena asked Nasuada. The dark woman still seemed a bit perplexed – and, really, Helena hadn’t explained much yet – but complied. Bringing the blade between her index finger and thumb, Helena uttered the incantation, “Gëuloth du knifr.” A spark sprung to life between her fingers, and Helena brought it down the length of the blade before returning it to Nasuada.

Carefully, Nasuada touched the blade. “It’s dull.”

“To protect against injuries,” Helena confirmed. “And don’t worry, I can remove the charm quite easily. Though, watch out, while a dulled sword can’t cut, they can still break bones. On my journey with Eragon and Brom, I didn’t experience that, but I certainly got more than just a few bruises.”

Nasuada’s interest was clearly peaked by the mention of Eragon and Brom, but thankfully she didn’t ask into it. She didn’t hold herself back, though, when Helena picked up the Sword of Gryffindor from where Godric had guarded it. Helena, seeing the unashamed curiosity, handed the sword to Nasuada after having dulled the edges.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful,” Nasuada breathed, touching the ruby at the pommel. Her eyes ran down the length of the blade. “Godric Gryffindor… I suppose that is Godric’s namesake?”

“Indeed,” Helena confirmed with a smile. “He was a famous knight and wizard back home. I’ve admired him greatly.”

Nasuada nodded and then frowned. She looked up at Helena, “Is this made of silver?”

Helena chuckled. “It is. I know, silver is a soft metal. But the Sword of Gryffindor was forged by goblins, who uses exotic magics while they smith.”

“Truly?” it came surprised from Nasuada, to which Helena nodded. “I believe the egg-bearer, Arya, mentioned that the elves use similar methods while smithing. I’m not sure, though, and I haven’t had the honour of seeing the blades of the few elves who have visited the Varden up close.” Nasuada handed the sword back.

“Huh.” Helena filed that information away in the back of her mind.

Looking around them, Helena quickly raised a barrier which would hide them from prying eyes and ears. Both Carver and Nasuada observed with great interest but didn’t interfere. Taking a few steps away from Nasuada, Helena then faced the other woman and went into the stance Brom had taught her. Nasuada noticed right away and went into her own stance. The two women observed each other for a full minute. And then Nasuada charged.

It became clear to Helena from the start that Nasuada used a vastly different style than the one Brom had taught Eragon and herself; it had a lot more feints and excess motions, trying to draw the eyes away from the blade and to lead one to defend from an attack that wasn’t happening. Brom’s style of duelling was much more precise and energy-conserving; it tried to use an opponent’s strength against themselves – Brom had taught this because he knew that Eragon and Helena as Riders would frequently be up against opponents who were physically stronger than themselves, Helena especially. It was, therefore, a challenge for Helena to adapt to Nasuada’s style, and the latter got a fair few hits in especially in the first two minutes. It was very refreshing to be challenged such.

For a while, neither woman spoke, but simply duelled. Then at a reprieve, where Helena surprised Nasuada by kicking her in the stomach and causing her to stumble back a few feet, Nasuada spoke up. It gave them both time to catch their breath.

“How did you know I could handle a sword?”

Helena tilted her. “Apart from the muscle I spotted at the baths – lean, but clearly there –, I simply had a feeling about you. You are a strong woman, and I simply couldn’t see you not being able to defend yourself, being dependant on a man for protection.”

Nasuada’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t deny it. She charged again. This time, though, they spoke as they duelled.

“Now that you’ve gotten a bit of a better feel for the Varden, what do you think?” Nasuada inquired as she blocked a strike from Helena.

Helena tried to strike a few more times before answering, each of the strikes getting blocked and the last one being dodged.

“People are for the most parts keeping their distance from me, but the outright hostility has all but disappeared,” Helena answered. “The Council of Elders, perhaps but for Jörmundur, will be a problem for me to work with. They are as power-hungry as anyone I have seen. I don’t think I have to state my opinion of the ferret and his brother, but with that said… if the Du Vranr Gata approaches me without them, I wouldn’t be opposed to talking with them.”

“And as for my father?”

Helena shot a crooked smile to Nasuada. “As for Ajihad… I think I like him. He is in a difficult position, but as far as I can see, he seems respectable and honourable. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I trust him, but I could see myself growing to trust him eventually.”

Nasuada dodged another swipe from Helena. She was frowning. “Was that why you asked me here today? To get close to my father?”

Helena made a so-so motion with her head. “I wouldn’t be candid if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. It is a _part_ of the reason: anything you may or may not learn about me, I think you are bound to tell your father. And since it hasn’t taken place in an official meeting, he isn’t bound to share the information with the Council. Or so I’m guessing since you used the same trick in the baths.”

That caused Nasuada to grin. “Clever.”

Helena winked. “I thought so.”

Nasuada clearly was used to spar against different opponents who used various styles, and therefore had had an easy time to adapt to the style Helena was using. But while Helena wasn’t anything near a master swordsman (and probably never would be), she was a quick study, and she learned. While Nasuada might have had the advantage at the beginning of the duel, the longer the duel lasted, the more even they were standing.

“You said it was a part of the reason you had asked me here today,” Nasuada continued the conversation after another minute.

Helena nodded. “I’m curious about you. You seem like my sort: a strong, independent woman, who don’t need no man.”

Nasuada shot Helena a blank look. “What?”

The Ruby Rider chuckled. “Never mind that. It was a kind-of joke from back home, though it holds a sliver of truth. You seem someone who doesn’t just sit by and let things happen. And… I could see myself befriending you. Of course, I have Godric and Angela; but Godric is a dragon, and Angela is ancient by own admission. It would be nice to have a friend around my age – who isn’t male.”

Nasuada stepped back from the sparring, and Helena mirrors her. The dark woman smiled. “I think I’d like that. At least to give it a try.”

“Brilliant,” Helena beamed.

“That was awesome!” Carver exclaimed. Helena blinked in surprise, almost having forgotten that the young boy was with them. He looked back and forth between them. “Can you teach me?”

Helena chuckled. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to show you a trick or two sometime.”

Nasuada looked softly between them, before turning and walking to her horse. Taking off the saddle-bag, she said over her shoulder, “I brought food and water.”

“Oh, ehm,” Helena coughed into her sleeve. “I might’ve forgotten that.”

Nasuada chuckled. “Then it’s fortunate that I have brought enough for all of us.” Then she spotted Godric. “Well, enough for us humans. I apologise, Great Dragon.”

Godric rumbled pleasantly and inclined his head. Nasuada still looked carefully to Helena.

“It’s fine,” Helena assured her. Godric rumbled again in confirmation. He put his head down and closed his eyes.

Helena, Nasuada, and Carver sat down, and Nasuada brought out the food and water. It wasn’t anything too fancy; some bread and cheese along with water. But after the spar, it was heavenly. Carver kept gushing about how awesome they had been, and… Helena, at that moment, didn't think she had it too bad.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… Eragon: is he the other Rider?” Nasuada asked after their meal.

Helena was slow to respond. “He is… But because of who you are, I really can’t talk about it. Really, I haven’t talked about him to anyone. I won’t reveal secrets which aren’t mine to share, and… The way we were separated wasn’t the most pleasant.”

Nasuada was visibly disappointed by the answer but nodded. “I can respect that.” Then her eyes moved to the Sword of Gryffindor. “How about you tell me about goblins, then?”

“Gladly,” Helena chuckled. “The goblins are subterranean species, not much unlike the dwarves I suppose…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Long time, no see, huh? I will not apologise for it, because I’ve been so busy this last year (jeez, has it really been a year), that I haven’t done anything else other than go to school. I’m taking three years of schooling in two years, so that is why I’ve been so busy.  
> But! It’s the summer holidays now, and my first priority is to finish Book One of By Wisdom and Courage! I think there are about five chapters left in addition to this chapter, so hopefully, they will be uploaded with only a few days between them.  
> I can feel that it has been a long time since I’ve written like this, so I apologise if some parts seem a bit “stiff”. Please do point them out, so maybe I can smooth them out in the future. Other than that, I’m actually pretty happy with this.  
> Next up: Reunions!  
> Synthesis  
> Ancient Language Translation:  
> Gëuloth du knifr – Dull the knife


	19. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He made a small motion with his head, “I did for a while. Man, did I blame you for a while. Brom had died, and I got to… a very dark place in my mind as we travelled up the western edge of Hadarac.” He paused, looking down onto his clasped hands in his lap. “I was angry. Furious. I hated you, Godric.”  
> Godric shifted but didn’t shy away.  
> “It wasn’t a hard thing to do. You never made your opinion of me a secret,” Eragon continued, looking Godric straight into the eyes. Then he looked at Helena. “And then I began blaming you as well.”  
> Helena wouldn’t lie. That hurt to hear, even if she knew it was perfectly reasonable for Eragon to feel that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by Byakko no Akuba

It was another fortnight before something interesting happened. Helena kept to the same routine she had gotten into after she had given her oath, with a few minor changes; Angela had become something of permanent fixture (and anchor) in her life, and Helena had spent a fair amount of time with Nasuada. While Helena had duelled with the dark woman once more since that first time, it was not something either of them did for fun; instead, Helena would either join Nasuada for lunch, or, more often, in the medical clinic, where the dark woman looked with wide-eyes as Helena healed bruises and scrapes in only a few seconds. Helena had also requested a teacher of the dwarven language and had been surprised by the eagerness she had been met with by the dwarves. It had only been the very next day that she had been introduced to Brokk, a no-nonsense scholar whose demeanour reminded her so much of McGonagall that it had almost hurt.

On that particular day, Helena had been in her chambers reading a book about the Riders, written by a dwarf (though still in ‘common’, as she was nowhere near proficient enough to read dwarven yet). It was less than flattering, though a lot less subjective than Helena would’ve imagined it to be. All in all, it seemed to describe a series of events which had culminated in what had been seen as a loss of dwarven culture, control, or economic gain due to the actions of the Riders. Helena could see that having happened easily. What she believed the book left out was the times the dwarves, in fact, _gained_ because of the actions of the Riders. As it was, she was taking what was written with just the tiniest grain of salt.

Still, the book put Helena’s thoughts in motion. It fit with what she had learned about the Old Order; she had no doubt that the Riders of Old had kept order and done more good than harm, but they also seemed to have done much more harm than was necessary. She doubted they had started out that way, so that begged a pretty significant question of Helena; if they managed to win this war against Galbatorix, what was to stop Helena and Eragon from following in their footsteps a few hundred years from now? And how would they stop the New Order from becoming arrogant, if after they won against Galbatorix, Helena and Eragon either left or died – thus making the other, newer Riders of the eggs in Galbatorix’s possession the Riders’ leaders.

Hrothgar was right to be concerned.

Helena’s musings were interrupted when Carver came bursting through the doors of her chambers, panting like mad. Sweat was pouring down his face as he had run the whole way there. Helena raised an eyebrow at that: while the boy couldn’t be described as “formal” or “proper” – something Helena had made no effort to change – he always knocked on her door before entering. He had also never run to get here before.

And that was when her page dropped the bombshell.

“A new Rider is arriving,” Carver told her. “They are approaching from the Western Gate.”

Helena froze, the words uttered not making sense to her. Eragon here? That was what she had been waiting for, wasn’t it? But… why hadn’t anyone contacted her? Told her he had arrived? They knew it was why she was there, and-.

‘ _Helena,’_ Godric broke her frantic thoughts. ‘ _You’re rambling. They’re here.’_

“They’re here,” Helena repeated in a whispered voice. She looked up and saw Carver watching her with a frown. Her eyes widened. “They’re here!”

Taking only a moment to make sure she indeed was adequately clothed – leather pants and a white, fluffy shirt tied off with a slim sash at her waist –, Helena didn’t hesitate for another moment. She envisioned the nexus room beneath the Star Sapphire, and before the baffled Carver could do anything, she twisted in on herself and apparated there.

The people around her squawked in surprise as she appeared beneath the Star Sapphire. Helena didn’t pay notice to them, quickly orienting herself and began to half-walk-half-run down the western tunnel – which’s edges were now filled with people who had gathered to get a look at the new Rider.

‘ _Dear One, wait,’_ Godric stopped her before she had taken more than a few steps.

‘ _What? Why?’_ she asked baffled. Yes, she was baffled, but as much as she wanted to see Eragon and Brom – and she wanted to see them _now_ – she trusted her partner enough to stop her when he did.

‘ _You can’t act like you are in front of all those people,’_ Godric told her severely. ‘ _You have worked hard to gain their respect, and while it is still a long way coming, you are making progress. Acting as you are, it would diminish you in their eyes. And it would diminish Eragon. Do you want that to be the first impression they get of the farmer’s boy?’_

Helena’s emotion battled with Godric’s logic, but it only took a few moments for the latter to win. She let out a frustrated sigh.

‘ _You’re right… Though I don’t know if I should thank you for that,’_ Helena grumbled.

Taking another moment to gather her thoughts again, Helena then envisioned the hallway outside of Ajihad’s office and then apparated there. Like the people in the nexus room, the guards jumped in surprise and grasped the hilts of their swords. As soon as they identified her, though, they let go of their weapons; they did still look more than unnerved at the way Helena had appeared. Helena had the decency to shoot them an apologetic smile.

And then she waited on Eragon.

Again.

As much as Helena tried, she couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting like a lovestruck teenager. And she couldn’t candidly claim that she wasn’t one. Alright, ‘lovestruck’ was taking it way too far, but the distance from Eragon most certainly had put things in perspective. It wasn’t like she was going to jump him when she saw him again – if he even wanted to have anything to do with her after how they parted –, but… she was most definitely open to the possibility of there being more than friendship between them.

Helena drew more than just a few looks from the guards. She sent a wave of gratitude to Godric for stopping her from making a fool of herself in front of even more people. Ugh, she hated it when she couldn’t control herself. It was unnerving.

‘ _Are you not coming down here?’_ Helena asked Godric.

Godric took a moment to answer. ‘ _Even if it wouldn’t be a nightmare to get through the crowds, I would only draw attention from Saphira and Eragon.’_

It was an entirely fitting answer. However, Helena could feel the guilt bubbling up ins his mind. ‘ _Godric…’_

Godric sent the mental equivalent of a sigh. ‘ _You and I both know it’s my fault that we left in the manner we did. Depending on what happened… They might not want to see me.’_

Helena was about to try and soothe Godric when she heard a large intake of breath. It caused her to stiffen, and slowly she turned.

It was Eragon.

He was standing ramrod straight, looking at her with wide eyes. Evidentially, he hadn’t expected to see her there. Helena didn’t say anything, didn’t move an inch. She took a moment to take him in, categorising all the changes that had happened since they had parted a month-and-a-half prior.

It was too much; she didn’t feel he should’ve changed so much, but he had. He looked dirty and tired, but there was definitely more muscle to spot on him. He had lost some of his baby-fat, and especially his chin looked more defined – which now also sported some stubble which gave him a bit of a rugged look. And his eyes… They held a profound grief as he observed her, a grief that hadn’t been present before.

And Helena knew. Brom had to be dead. She had already recognized the significant possibility after she had failed to scry him, but she had held onto hope – oh, how she had held onto that hope. Now she knew, and she cursed the Ra’zac.

She couldn’t wait anymore.

Helena ran the last few steps over to her fellow Rider, casting her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. His scent invaded her nostrils, and it almost brought tears to her eyes just how much she had missed it – how much she had missed him. Yes, his scent was hidden beneath sweat and stink, but it was there.

Eragon had startled the moment she had hugged him, standing as ramrod stiff as he had before. He stood like that for a few seconds, and then he had relaxed and had returned her hug. Tightly.

Helena didn’t know how long they stood like that, but as she withdrew from it, she gave Eragon a watery smile. He returned it, his own eyes glistening with tears.

“Helena, I-,” Eragon began but was quickly cut off by a man clearing his throat.

Helena turned to face the man. Her face soured as she spotted one of the twins – more specifically the twin that she had turned into a ferret. They might be identical in appearance, but the twin she had transfigured just couldn’t muster up the same amount of arrogance against her as his twin could.

“What do you want, ferret?” Helena asked with disdain.

The twin shuddered for a moment and panic flashed in his eyes. Then his anger took over as his face reddened. He didn’t act on it – perhaps Ajihad had given him and his brother a talking to after her oath-giving – and instead looked to Eragon.

“Ajihad is awaiting you,” the twin told Eragon stiffly, turning to open the door.

Helena made a grimace at him, to which Eragon shot her a questioning glance. She smiled softly and said, “Later, I promise you.”

She didn’t wait for his answer, taking him by the arm instead, to the surprise of them both. He looked at her with wide eyes, before smiling. She squeezed his arm and gave him a wink. She had only just found him, so she wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

That said, keeping in mind Godric’s words, Helena let go again only a few moments later, after they had entered Ajihad’s office. Thankfully, it was only Ajihad who was present, and not the Council of Elders. Helena stopped a step behind Eragon, finally taking in his entourage.

There was, of course, Saphira. Helena gently brushed up against the dragon, sending her an affectionate smile. Saphira did nothing for a moment and then settled for a blink. Mentally, Helena winced (and she could feel the same reaction from Godric); the blue dragon clearly did have a bone to pick with Helena and Godric, but she at least wasn’t outright hostile.

Another person Saphira wasn’t outright hostile towards, and, dare Helena say, perhaps even slightly protective of was a young man around her own age. Like Eragon, he was covered in dirt and grime, but below it he was distinctly handsome. He had a severe face and fierce grey eyes which were framed by the locks of his long, brown hair. He had grown a light beard, but Helena couldn’t tell whether that was intentional, or whether he had been unable to shave like Eragon. Currently, he wore a very tight look on his face and walked forward to stand by Eragon.

The last one to stay in the room apart from the ferret was a dwarf. He was young and wore the Varden standard armour. Despite there being a dragon and two Riders in the room, Helena saw him as the odd one out.

“I welcome you to Tronjheim, Eragon and Saphira,” Ajihad greeted the guests of honour. “I am Ajihad. Please, do sit down.”

Eragon and the unfamiliar young man didn’t hesitate to take him up on his offer, Helena doing the same. Behind them, Saphira got comfortable, but Helena wasn’t fooled; she knew the dragon was ready to attack at any moment’s notice of hostility.

Ajihad then snapped his fingers, and the other half of the twins stepped forward from the shadows to join his brother. Eragon looked surprised at the two as the unfamiliar man stiffened.

“Your confusion is understandable; they’re twin brothers,” Ajihad told them with a friendly smile. “I would tell you their name, but they have none.”

Saphira hissed loudly. Ajihad observed her warily.

“Right. We’ve met,” Eragon stated stiffly, not meeting Ajihad’s eyes.

It only took a moment for Helena to figure out what happened. The air around her got crackling as she stood up and turned to the twins – who, to be fair, looked rather frightened all of a sudden.

“What the fucking hell are you?” she yelled at them. “You great gangly fug-knuckled twats, greasy head cuntbags! I should-.”

“Lady Potter, please!” Ajihad cut her off just as she got started. Saphira was looking at her with amusements, while both Eragon and his friend sat looking at her with their mouths agape.

“And you!” Helena turned on Ajihad. “Did you allow this?”

Ajihad’s face darkened. “It is common protocol to have every person entering Farthen Dûr go through a scanning of their mind. You know this.”

Helena’s face soured. That was political speech for ‘no, I did not allow this.’ Fucking Council. Shooting one last, acidic glare on the twins – who looked all too smug than she would’ve like – she sat down again.

Ajihad took a few moments to gather his wits, his eyes finally landing on the dark-haired boy. “While we in the Varden recently have… gotten a new perspective when it comes to the sanctity of the mind, you have still put me in a difficult situation by denying us access to your mind. You have been granted access to Farthen Dûr only because the twins have assured me that they can control you, and because of your service in assisting Eragon and Arya.”

Helena blinked. Arya. That was the name of the lost, elven ambassador to the Varden. The egg-bearer. Helena turned to look at Eragon; had they found her? Then, why wasn’t she there in the office with them?

The unfamiliar man’s expression was as tight as it had been the whole time as he answered. “You wouldn’t trust me under either circumstance, so I choose to keep my secrets my own.”

He had only just started answering when Ajihad’s face darkened significantly, his eyes all but sparking. A deafening silence hung in the office for several moments, where Ajihad seemed to be searching for something in the young man’s face.

“It’s been twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ear… but, I know that voice.” He stood ominously, chest swelling. The twins looked alarmed and put their heads together, whispering frantically. That alone caught Helena’s attention; while the twins were her least favourite people on Alagaësia, they weren’t stupid. She turned to look at Eragon’s friend. Ajihad continued, “It came from another man, one more beast than human. Get up.”

Eragon’s friend complied, although warily. His eyes were darting between Ajihad, the twins, and the door; he was looking for a way to escape. Mentally, Helena readied herself; there was a reason it was called the fight or flight instinct, and when this young man realised he couldn’t escape, he might fight. Apparently, Eragon knew her well enough to know her thought process because he caught her eyes and almost imperceptibly shook his head. Helena frowned but gave a nod in return.

“Remove your shirt,” ordered Ajihad. Stiffly, Eragon’s friend did just that. With a shrug, he pulled off his tunic. “Now, turn around.” As he pivoted to the sights, the light fell upon his back, and Helena gasped.

A nasty, twisting scar was running across his back, reaching from his right shoulder to his left hip. Even in this place, with their limited medical knowledge, Helena could see that that scar hadn’t been appropriately taken care of when the wound had been inflicted. There would be a scar either way, without the aid of magic, but right now it was gnarly and ugly, and Helena wouldn’t be surprised if it limited the man’s range of motion just the tiniest bit.

“Murtagh,” Ajihad breathed. A grunt of surprise came from the dwarf. Without warning, Ajihad turned on the twins and thundered, “Did you know of this?”

The twins bowed their heads. “We discovered his name in the Rider’s mind, but we did not suspect that this was the son of one as powerful as Morzan. It never occurred -.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Ajihad demanded. Helena only paid half attention, having turned to watch Murtagh. He was the son of _Morzan_?

“No, but-,” the ferret tried to explain. He was cut off as Ajihad raised a hand.

“We will discuss this later,” he told them, making it very much sound like a threat. He faced Murtagh again, “First I must untangle this muddle. Do you still refuse to be probed?”

“Yes,” Murtagh answered sharply without hesitation. He slipped back into his tunic. “I won’t let anyone inside my head.”

Ajihad leaned on his desk. “There will be unpleasant consequences if you don’t. Unless the twins can certify that you aren’t a threat, we cannot give you credence, despite, and perhaps of the assistance you have given Eragon.”

“Ajihad,” Helena spoke up carefully. “I know this is a sensitive matter, but surely we might be able to do something with an oath again.”

Ajihad frowned. “You were a special case, Lady Potter, and you know that. A case that _should_ have been extended to Eragon.” Eragon blinked in surprise and looked at her. She mouthed him ‘later’. “Murtagh here is son of one of the Forsworn. Mind probing is the only infallible method of assuring his loyalties. Without that, the people here, dwarf and human alike, will tear him apart. We could send guards with him everywhere, but that will not lessen the unrest – quite on the contrary.” Ajihad faced Murtagh. “It will only get worse once King Hrothgar catches wind of your identity. Morzan did many a foul thing to the dwarves, and King Hrothgar will demand custody of you.”

“What? Why?” Helena pressed. “While I can’t speak of his innocence, surely Morzan’s crimes are not his son’s!”

“The people of the Varden and Farthen Dûr does not agree with that,” Ajihad told her stiffly. He once again turned to Murtagh. “If you still refuse to be probed, I’ll be forced to keep you confined at all times – as much for your protection as for ours. Don’t force yourself into that situation when it can easily be avoided.”

Murtagh snorted. “You said it yourself, even with my mind probed, it is no guarantee that people will not be hostile – much less trust me. Even if I submitted, I would still be treated like a leper and an outcast. All I wish is to leave. If you let me do that peacefully, I’ll never reveal your location to the Empire.”

“And what will happen if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix?” demanded Ajihad. “He will extract every secret from your mind, no matter how strong you may be. Even if you could resist him, how can we trust that you won’t re-join him in the future? I cannot take that chance.

“Will you hold me prisoner forever?” Murtagh asked frustrated, straightening in his chair.

“No,” Ajihad slowly answered. “Only until you let yourself be examined, or another infallible method to determine your loyalties are found. If you let your mind be probed and are found trustworthy, the twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dûr’s location from your mind before you leave. We won’t risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix’s hands.” Ajihad folded his hands and leaned back into his chair. “What is it to be, Murtagh? Decide quickly, or else the path will be chosen for you.”

Murtagh lifted his chin, and as his answered, Helena felt like she was looking into a mirror. “My mind is the one sanctuary that has not been stolen from me. Men have tried to breach it before, but I’ve learned to defend it vigorously, for I am only safe with my innermost thoughts. You have asked for the one thing I cannot give, least of all to those two.” He gestured to the twins. “Do with me what you will, but know this: death will take me before I’ll expose myself to their probing.

Ajihad’s eyes glinted with admiration, and he momentarily glanced at her. “I’m not surprised by your choice, though I had hoped otherwise… Guards!” The cedar door slammed open as warriors rushed in, weapons at the ready. Ajihad pointed to Murtagh and commanded, “Take him to a windowless room and bar the door securely. Post six men by the entrance and allow no one inside until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either.”

The guards surrounded Murtagh watching him suspiciously and left the study with the young man a moment later. An oppressive silence being left in the office.

Ajihad then abruptly said, “I want everyone out of this office but for Eragon, Saphira, and Lady Potter. Now!”

Bowing, the twins departed, but Orik waited for a moment. “Sir, the king will want to know of Murtagh. And there is still the matter of my insubordination…” Helena had no idea what he was walking about, but this was clearly not the moment to ask.

Ajihad frowned, and then waves his hand. “I will tell King Hrothgar myself. As for your actions… wait outside until I call for you. And don’t let the twins get away. I’m not done with them, either.”

“Very well,” Orik said, inclining his head. He closed the door with a solid thump.

After a long silence, Ajihad sat with a tired sigh. No, Helena definitely didn’t envy him – something that hit hard, since if the Varden hadn’t accepted her oath, she could’ve been in Ajihad’s position not too long from now. He ran a hand over his face and stared at the ceiling.

Beside Helena, Eragon started to fidget. He controlled himself for all of two minutes, before finally blurting out, “Is Arya all right?”

Ajihad looked down at him and said gravely, “No… but the healers tell me she will recover. They worked on her all through the night. The poison took a dreadful toll on her. She wouldn’t have lived if not for you. For that, you have the Varden’s deepest thanks.”

Eragon’s shoulders slumped with relief. Helena sat quietly observing him; whatever he had been through, it seemed he only now was able to let his guard down. Just a bit. He sat like that for a few seconds, before he looked up at Ajihad. “So, what now?” he asked.

“I need you to tell me how you found Saphira and everything that’s happened since, “Ajihad told Eragon, folding his hands and putting them on the desk. “I know some of it from Lady Potter, but she has been more than vague when it came to you and Brom, not wanting to reveal secrets that weren’t her own.” Eragon looked surprised at her, and then looked thankful. Helena smiled at him. “I also know some things from the message Brom sent us, though,” Ajihad looked at Helena, “he made no mention of a second Rider, so I surmise he must also have kept other things from us. The twins have also told me a bit, as unfortunate as it was that they went ahead and probed your mind, they did learn a thing or two. But in any case, I want to hear it from you, especially the details concerning Brom’s death.”

Helena winced at that and looked away. Eragon also seemed to stiffen in his chair, but he nodded to Ajihad.

For one who loved to talk as much as Eragon did, he did so haltingly to start with. Then again, Ajihad was a stranger to Eragon – and to Helena, indeed. But Ajihad was patient, and while Eragon clearly found it awkward at first, he seemed to find a rhythm as he proceeded. Ajihad listened the entire time intently.

Eragon talked for hours, often pausing between his words. He told Ajihad of how he had found Saphira’s egg, how he and Brom had fled Carvahall, about Teirm and meeting up with Helena, how they had tracked down the Ra’zac to Dras-Leona. He even surprised Helena by relating his dreams of Arya.

And then he reached the night of the ambush.

After Godric had fled with Helena, Murtagh had taken advantage of the panic of the Ra’zac. They had escaped, but not before fatally wounding Brom with a knife. It had been meant for Eragon, but the old storyteller had jumped in front of Eragon, saving him. Eragon had passed out and only woken up days later – just in time to say goodbye to Brom.

“ _A Rider?”_ Helena exclaimed as Eragon told of Brom’s parting words.

Eragon shot her a sad, wry smile. “We always knew he had many secrets he hadn’t shared. It does make sense how he knew many of the things he knew.”

Having buried Brom in a crystal tomb (the description of the magic, Helena recognised as transfiguration), Eragon had decided to travel with Murtagh. They had gone north to Gil’ead, as, when Eragon had pulled the stunt with the urgals in the Spine, Brom had left clues to find the Varden with Saphira in case he should die. It had taken a few weeks to travel to the northern city, and while they had been in a hurry to leave the immediate area around Dras-Leona, Eragon had still needed time to heal. They had searched the villages along the way for Arya (though, Eragon had then not know who she was), but to no avail.

Gil’ead had been a clusterfuck (though, Eragon hadn’t quite put it in those words). Eragon had been captured, though it was because of that, that they had found Arya. Then there had been something called a ‘Shade’ there, and though Helena knew nothing of such a creature, she surmised from Eragon’s dire expression and Ajihad’s reaction that it wasn’t a thing of the Light. They had escaped, Eragon had made contact with Arya in her mind, and they had followed her instructions to find the Varden – though, bringing an army of urgals with them hadn’t been planned.

When Eragon’s narrative was complete, he fell silent, brooding on all that occurred. Helena felt shame. Shame for not being there for Brom’s death, shame for not being able to perhaps save Brom, shame for not having been able to help Eragon. She had to fight the urge to not take Eragon’s hand in hers; that would be about making her feel better, not him. Eragon, it seemed, just needed to be left with his own thoughts.

Ajihad stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and absently studied one of the bookshelves. After a time, he returned to the desk.

“Brom’s death is a terrible loss. He was a close friend of mine and a powerful ally of the Varden. He saved us from destruction many a times through his bravery and intelligence. Even now, when he is gone, he’s provided us with the one thing that can ensure our success – you, both of you.”

“But what can you expect me to accomplish?” asked Eragon.

“I will explain it in detail,” Ajihad assured him, “but there are more urgent matters to be dealt with first. The news of the urgals’ alliance with the Empire is dire. If Galbatorix is gathering an urgal army to destroy us, the Varden will be hard pressed to survive, even though many of us are protected here in Farthen Dûr. That a Rider, even one as evil as Galbatorix, would consider a pact with such monsters is indeed proof of madness. I shudder to think of what he promised them in return for their fickle loyalty. And then there is the Shade. Can you describe him?”

Eragon nodded. “He was tall, thin, and very pale, with red eyes and hair. He was dressed all in black.

“What of his sword – did you see it?” Ajihad asked intensely. “Did it have a long scratch on the blade?”

“Yes, Eragon answered, surprised. “How did you know?”

“Because I put it there while trying to cut out his heart,” Ajihad explained with a grim smile. “His name is Durza – one of the most vicious and cunning fiends to ever stalk this land. He is the perfect servant for Galbatorix and a dangerous enemy for us.”

“What is a shade?” Helena finally asked when she no longer was able to follow the conversation without that knowledge.

“A terrible thing,” Ajihad told her grimly. “You know of spirits since you answered my daughter’s question a few weeks back. She asked you if you had tamed one; some magicians do that to gain more power. Trianna, I believe, a member of Du Vrangr Gata, has done just that. Now, a spirit doesn’t do this freely, and if the spirit is stronger than the magician, the magician is possessed. He or she stops being human, dwarf, elf, or urgal, becoming a new creature: a shade. They are wholly evil.”

Helena frowned deeply, troubled by the information. She would certainly look up the shades in the library when she got the time (wouldn’t Hermione be proud of her, she thought wryly).

Ajihad turned to Eragon. “You say that you killed him. How was it done?”

“Murtagh shot him twice,” Eragon answered. “The first arrow caught Durza in the shoulder; the second one struck him between the eyes.”

Ajihad’s expression darkened. “I was afraid of that. You didn’t kill him. Shades can only be destroyed by a thrust through the heart. Anything short of that will cause them to vanish and then reappear elsewhere in spirit form.” He looked at both of them. “It’s an unpleasant process, but Durza will survive and return stronger than ever. And Durza especially is vengeful so you can expect him to come after you and Murtagh.”

A moody silence settled over them like a foreboding thunderhead. Then Ajihad stated, “You are an enigma, Eragon, a quandary that no one knows how to solve. Everyone knows what the Varden wants, what the urgals want, what Galbatorix wants – even Lady Potter’s motivations have spread more than a bit. But no one quite knows what you want. And that makes you dangerous, especially to Galbatorix. He fears you because he doesn’t know what you will do next.”

Eragon was quiet, before asking, “Do the Varden fear me?”

“No,” Ajihad answered carefully and reserved. “Lady Potter’s presence has helped a lot, although some of her methods are more… confrontational than what I would’ve hoped for. But, it could be that brashness that makes people sure what they see is the truth. We are hopeful, but if that hope proves false, then yes, we will be afraid.”

Eragon looked down, but he didn’t shrink in on himself. Helena observed him. She would never have wished him to go through these last two months on his own, but through it, he had clearly grown.

“You must understand the unusual nature of your position. There are factions who want you to serve their interests and no one else’s. The moment you entered Farthen Dûr, their influence and power began tugging you.”

“It’s a real joy,” Helena mumbled sarcastically. Eragon and Ajihad glanced at her but didn’t respond to her comment.

“Are you including yourself in that?” Eragon asked.

Ajihad chuckled, though his eyes were sharp. “I am.” He paused for a moment. “But before we approach that, there are things you should know: first is how Saphira’s egg happened to appear in the Spine. Did Brom ever tell you what was done with her egg after he brought it here?”

“No,” Eragon answered, glancing at Helena. She shook her head.

Ajihad tapped his desk and then began the tale. At first, everyone had been deeply interested in its fate, everyone having their own vision for the future. The dwarves just wanted an ally, but both the humans and the elves wanted the Rider to be of their own race. Conflict had begun to brew, and thus, to avoid that, Brom had come up with a compromise; the egg would be ferried between the Varden and the elves each year, and when the dragon did hatch to a new Rider, the Rider’s training would also be split – the first year or so he or she would be instructed in Farthen Dûr by the Varden, and then the Rider would be taken to the elves to finish their education.

“I understand the position you were in, but wasn’t it a bit arrogant to make a deal about someone else?” Helena asked, maybe just a bit sharply. “While Saphira’s egg might have hatched to anyone, did that Rider then have no say about their future?”

"At the time, it wasn't something we were concerned with," Ajihad admitted. "You raise perfectly valid concerns, but everyone within both the Varden and Du Weldenvarden are committed to seeing the end of Galbatorix reign. If Saphira had hatched for someone else, I doubt they would have protested for our plans.”

Helena paused and frowned. “Perhaps.” Then she looked up at him. “And now?”

Ajihad mirrored her frown. “You are a special case, you know that. But especially the elves will make a big fuss about the deal being made over Saphira.”

“But the deal is only about our education, isn’t it?” Eragon asked, glancing at Helena. “Not about our future thereafter?”

“Correct,” Ajihad confirmed. His eyes then settled on Helena. “Lady Potter, I’ve come to know you well enough to know you are stubborn – especially when people try to exert their control on you. It’s both a blessing and curse, from both our points of view. But accepting knowledge is not a bad thing, is it?”

Helena chuckled. “I guess not.“ Then she shook her head. “I mean, no it is not a bad thing. I… apologise.”

Ajihad quirked an eyebrow as his lips twitched. “Lady Potter apologising without being prompted. I thought I would never see the day.”

“Oh, bite me.”

Eragon looked aghast, but Ajihad only released a bark of laughter. "There we have it, that pride of yours. But I digress; it was hoped that this new Rider would bring our two races closer together, as the Riders had done before the Fall. We waited for well over a decade, but the egg never hatched. The matter eventually passed from our minds, and we rarely thought about it except to lament the egg’s inactivity.”

He tapped the table with his index-finger and sighed. “Then last year, we suffered a terrible loss. Arya and the egg disappeared on her return from Tronjheim to the elven city of Osilon. The elves were the first to discover that she was missing. They found her steed and guards slain in Du Weldenvarden and a group of slaughtered urgals nearby. But neither Arya nor the egg was there. When this news reached me, I feared that urgals had both of them and would soon learn the locations of Farthen Dûr and the elven capital of Ellesmera. Now I understand they were working for the Empire, which is far worse. We won’t know exactly what occurred during that attack until Arya wakes, but I have deduced that the attack must’ve been swift and precise, else Arya would’ve escaped. Without any warning, and deprived of a place to hide, she would’ve done only one thing – used magic transport the egg elsewhere.”

“Like Helena?” Eragon asked.

"Apparition is used to transport the user and whatever they're touching," Helena explained to Eragon. "And while we have another means of transportation that is similar to apparition, I doubt either is like what Arya did. The reason I was knocked out when we apparated out of Dras-Leona is proof enough.”

“While I can’t be sure, I believe you are correct,” Ajihad agreed. “Arya couldn’t have returned it to us – she was too far away – and the elves’ realm is warded by arcane barriers that prevent anything from entering their borders through magical means. She must’ve thought of Brom and, in desperation, sent the egg toward Carvahall. Without time to prepare, I‘m not surprised she missed by the margin she did. The twins tell me it’s an imprecise art.”

Yeah, then it most definitely wasn't like apparition. It was one of the more precise magical arts.

Ajihad sighed. “When Arya disappeared, the elves withdrew their support from the Varden. Queen Islanzadi was enraged and refused any further contact with us.”

Helena couldn’t help it; she clicked her tongue. She didn’t’ elaborate, not even when Ajihad quirked an eyebrow at her, but her thoughts were plain as day. While the elves might be the closest thing to wizardkind, much she had heard about them was arrogance – like with the Riders. That probably wasn’t a coincidence, as most Riders had been elves.

Ajihad continued, “As a result, even though I received Brom’s message, the elves are still ignorant of you and Saphira… Without their supplies to sustain our troops, we have fared badly these past months in skirmishes with the Empire. With Arya’s return and your arrival along with Helena’s, I expect the queen’s hostilities to abate. The fact that you rescued Arya will greatly help our case with her. Your training, however, is going to present a problem for both the Varden and the elves. Brom obviously had a chance to teach you, but we need to know how thorough he was. For that reason, you’ll have to be tested to determine the extent of your abilities.”

As Ajihad’s eyes landed on her, Helena rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I will participate in being tested.”

The leader of the Varden nodded. “Another problem, however, is the urgals. With them approaching, I’m not sure there will be time for you to finish your training with the elves.”

“Why not?” asked Eragon.

“Surely the elves don’t expect you to send us to them right this moment?” Helena asked, catching the meaning right away. She glanced at Eragon, and explained, “The Varden have lodged in Farthen Dûr, but this is still dwarven territory. It would be an immensely quick way to anger King Hrothgar by sending away two Riders when a hostile army is approaching.”

Ajihad nodded. “Indeed. And to answer your question, Helena, they would indeed expect us to send you away. A part of the deal was, that if Brom died, the elves would get to take over the training of the new Rider right away. If one says something to an elf, one has to mean it; there aren’t any ‘buts’ after the fact.”

“I thought the dwarves were part of the Varden?” Eragon asked.

Ajihad hesitated. “In a sense, yes. They allow us to live here and provide assistance in our struggle against the Empire, but they are loyal only to their king. I have no power over them except for what King Hrothgar gives me, and even he often has trouble with the dwarven clans. The thirteen clans are subservient to Hrothgar, but each clan chief wields enormous power. Hrothgar is sympathetic to our cause, but many chiefs aren’t, and he can’t afford to anger them unnecessarily, or he’ll lose the support of his people. He has done a lot for the Varden, but his action on our behalf have been severely circumscribed.”

“The dwarves have long lives, Eragon,” Helena reminded him. He looked over at her. “Brom did teach us about the bad blood between the Riders and the dwarves. And the forsworn has only made that worse. While it isn’t the majority that is against us, enough are.”

Eragon frowned but nodded. Then he slowly asked. “Why doesn’t Galbatorix know where Farthen Dûr and Ellesmera are? I mean, I know that they are hidden, but he surely was told of them when he was instructed by the Old Order.”

“Told of them, yes – shown where they are, no. It’s one thing to know that Farthen Dûr lies within these mountains, quite another to find it. Galbatorix hadn’t been taken to either place before his dragon was killed. And after that, the Riders, of course, didn’t trust him.”

“Hmm,” Eragon mused. “And it would be suicide to march an army through these mountains – or through Du Weldenvarden.”

"Indeed, the elves, dwarves, and the Varden have enough power to resist him," Ajihad nodded. "But the Black King grows stronger each year, and he has two eggs at his side. Just one other Rider and he would be unstoppable.”

Eragon seemed puzzled. “How can his power be increasing? The strength of his body limits his abilities – it can’t build itself up forever.”

“We do not know,” Ajihad sighed. “And neither do the elves. We can only hope that someday he will be destroyed by one of his own spells. Now,” he reached inside his vest and sombrely pulled out a battered piece of parchment. “Do either of you know what this is?” he asked and placed it on the desk.

Both Helena and Eragon leant forward. Helena hadn’t been expecting much, but when she leant forward, she recognised the runes. The same runes she used in her journals. All of it wasn’t legible; a large section of the writing had been destroyed by blots of blood, and one edge of the parchment was charred. But it was there. Runes.

“Helena,” Eragon said breathlessly, clearly also recognising it from her journals.

“Where was this found?” Helena asked sharply.

Ajihad blinked. “You _do_ recognise it?” He clearly hadn’t expected her to. She nodded. “It was taken from the leader of the urgal host we destroyed last night. It’s the king’s invention, a script he uses to communicate with his servants.”

“He didn’t invent it,” Helena dismissed as her eyes ran down the parchment. She bit her lip, “There are words I don’t recognise. What does Ushnark and Ithro Zhada mean?”

“Ushnark is Galbatorix. It means ‘father’ in the urgal tongue, an affection that pleases him. As for Ithro Zhada, it’s clearly an urgal name. I’ve never heard of it, but I suspect it is a place the Black King has renamed for his own purposes.”

“Hmm,” Helena mused. Glancing at Eragon, she said, “it reads ‘ _… gatekeeper at Ithro Zhada is to let this bearer and his minions pass. They are to be bunked with the others of their kind and by…’_ then some passages are covered in blood, but it continues, ‘ _… but only if the two factions refrain from fighting. Command will be given under Tarok, under Gashz, under Durza, under Ushnark the Mighty.’_ Again some illegible, and then, ‘ _Find what they are suitable for and…’_ Illegible again, ‘ _The footman and,’_ and a word I can’t make out, ‘ _are to be kept separate. No weapons are to be distributed until,´_ and once again something illegible, ‘ _for marching.’_ ”

Silence hung for a few moments after Helena was finished. Then Helena blinked.

“It’s just a thought, but could Ithro Zhada be an abandoned dwarven city?” Helena voiced, looking between Ajihad and Eragon. “I mean, Angela and I entered the tunnels through an abandoned gate, and she told me large parts of the tunnels are abandoned. Perhaps a surface city someplace?”

Ajihad nodded slowly. “It would explain what hundreds of urgals were doing in the Beor Mountains.”

“The parchment mentions ‘others of their kind’,” Eragon noted. “That then means that there are other urgals nearby.”

Ajihad frowned. “There’s only one reason for the king to gather such a force – to forge a bastard army of humans and monsters.”

“They plan to attack,” Eragon stated out loud.

“… Shit,” it came from Helena.

“Indeed,” Ajihad agreed, a deep frown marring his features. Then he sighed. “For now, there is nothing to do but wait and watch. Without further information, we cannot find this Ithro Zhada.”

“If you’d allow me to take it, I might be able to find a way to clean the parchment by magical means,” Helena offered. She shrugged, “I mean, there might not be any useful information, but isn’t it worth a shot.”

“It is,” Ajihad agreed without hesitation. “Do what you can.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This _is_ dire news. Still, Farthen Dûr has not yet been discovered, so there is hope. The only urgals to have seen it died last night.”

Eragon frowned. “By the way, how did you know we were coming?” he asked of Ajihad. “One of the twins-.”

“The ferret,” Helena coughed into her hand.

Eragon quirked an eyebrow as Ajihad covered his face with his hand. Eragon continued, “Well, he was waiting for us. And there was an ambush in place for the kull.”

“We have sentinels places at the entrance of the valley you travelled through – on either side of the Beartooth River,” Ajihad explained. “They sent a dove to warn us.”

“Why wasn’t I informed of that?” Helena asked sharply. “You know that the biggest reason I came to the Varden was to meet up with Eragon.” Eragon looked surprised at her.

“My hands were bound,” Ajihad answered, looking none too happy about it. “Ignoring the fact that while you have made some allies here, you have also made more than a few enemies within the Varden. When you add that together with Eragon and Saphira arriving with a host of kull at their backs, it was decided to keep you out of the loop.”

Helena’s face soured. She liked that Council less and less.

Eragon looked uncertainly at Helena before turning to Ajihad. “One last question; when the egg and Arya disappeared, did you tell Brom? He said that he hadn’t heard anything from the Varden.”

“We did send a message, but we’ve had weaknesses in our supply lines. That was how Lady Potter found us,” Ajihad explained to Eragon. “I suspect our men were intercepted and killed by the Empire. It would also explain why the Ra’zac would have gone to Carvahall. After that, Brom was travelling with you, and it was impossible to get word to him. We only got word from him from Teirm, where Jeod was able to smuggle us a message through Surda.”

Helena looked thoughtful, and it caught Ajihad’s eyes. “What is it, Lady Potter?”

“I’m just wondering of how the Empire knew where to ambush Arya. And later the messengers to Carvahall?” Helena asked. “I mean, once might be plausible, and there are the weakened supply lines as an explanation, but doesn’t it strike you as just the tiniest bit suspicious?”

Ajihad nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. I also suspect that it isn’t ‘pirates’ that are picking off specifically the merchants who help the Varden. Jeod’s business has virtually been destroyed since you left Teirm, as have those of other merchants who support us.”

“You have a traitor. A spy,” Helena concluded. So much for their infallible mind-probing scheme.

Eragon sank into his chair. Helena knew him well enough to know he was taking it all in. Both she and Ajihad waited calmly. And, then, after a minute, Eragon looked up at Ajihad and evenly asked, “What do you want from me?”

Ajihad blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what is expected of me in Tronjheim?” he clarified. And then a hard note crept into his voice. “I’ll fight when needed, revel when there’s occasion, mourn when there is grief, and die if my time comes… But I won’t let anyone use me against my will.” He paused to let the word sink in. “The Old Order were arbiters of justice above and beyond the leaders of their time. I don’t claim that position – I doubt people would accept such oversight when they’ve been free of it all their lives, especially from one as young as me. But I _do_ have power, and I will wield it as I see fit. What I want to know is how you plan to use me. Then I will decide whether to agree to it.”

Helena couldn’t keep the proud smile from appearing on her face. He indeed had grown up some.

Ajihad looked sternly at him for a moment, then after glancing at Helena, chuckled. “You are two sides of the same coin, you are. As for your question of being used against your will, Lady Potter has already fought a lot of that battle.” Smiling wryly, he continued, “Mind you, because of that, her enemies will also become your enemies. And she has made more than a few of them.”

Helena sniffed. “I haven’t _made_ enemies. I have made my position clear, and people have put themselves up against me.”

Ajihad sighed wearily, but he didn’t refute her. Whether it was because he agreed with her, or because he simply didn’t bother, Helena didn’t know.

“As for my own plans, I don’t want to see you become a pawn of any one group or purpose any more than you do,” Ajihad turned to answer Eragon. “I firmly believe that you must retain your freedom, for in it lies your true power: the ability to make choices independent of any leader or king.” He glanced at Helena, “I have already felt the frustration of not simply being able to order you around. But… I think it is a healthy variation. We do not know how long this war will last, and we need to not lose sight of why we fight.”

Eragon chuckled, “You tried to order Helena to do something?”

Helena clicked her tongue and swatted his shoulder. “Prat.” Still, a warm feeling settled in her stomach. How she had missed him.

Ajihad smiled wryly. “I’ve learned not to anymore. Saves everyone a headache.” Then he turned more serious again. “While you might protest it, the people here _will_ have certain expectations of you. You have power, you said that yourself, and the Riders have a reputation. They are going to bring you their problems, no matter how petty, and demand that you solve them.” Ajihad leaned forward, his voice deadly serious. “There will be cases where someone’s future will rest in your hands… with a mere word, you can send them careening into happiness and misery. Young women will want your opinion whom they should marry – and many will surely pursue you as a husband – and old men will ask which of their children should receive an inheritance.”

Helena frowned at the mention of other women. The warmth in her stomach began to swirl. Surely, she had nothing to worry about. Eragon… He wouldn’t… Would he? She looked at him.

"You must be kind and wise with them all," Ajihad tried to impress on Eragon. "They put their trust in you. Don't speak flippantly or without thought, because your words will have an impact far beyond what you intend.” He leaned back, his eyes hooded. “The burden of leadership is being responsible for the well-being of the people in your charge. I have dealt with it from the day I was chosen to head the Varden, and now you must as well. Be careful. I won’t tolerate injustice under my command.” Then his face softened. “As for your youth and inexperience: don’t worry about that, because they will pass soon enough.”

Eragon took it a lot better than Helena had thought. Despite noticing that he had grown several times now, she still remembered the boy who had a hard time accepting what Brom told them outside of Teirm. Now, he didn’t seem thrilled with the idea, but he seemed to accept it.

“Ajihad,” Helena spoke up. The leader of the Varden looked up. “It is getting late, and I’m guessing Eragon would really like some food, a shower, and to sleep in a bed. There are also subjects that Eragon and I need to talk about – alone.”

“Indeed,” Ajihad agreed. “Other things can wait until a later date.”

“Wait, what about Murtagh?” Eragon asked, just the tiniest bit bitingly.

Ajihad’s face darkened. He reached beneath his desk and lifted up Zar’roc. The sword’s polished sheath gleamed in the light. Ajihad slid his hand over it, lingering on the etched sigil. “He will stay here until he allows the twins into his mind.”

“You can’t imprison him,” argued Eragon. “He’s committed no crime!”

“Eragon,” Helena tried to calm him. He looked to her harshly but didn’t continue. “I agree completely, but Ajihad is honourable. Murtagh _will_ be taken care of. He will not be hurt.”

Ajihad nodded to Helena, and then handed Eragon Zar’roc. “I wish Brom had told me he had taken Morzan’s sword. I suggest that you don’t carry it within Farthen Dûr. Many here remember Morzan’s time with hate, especially the dwarves.”

“I’ll remember that,” Eragon promised, even as Helena rolled her eyes.

“That reminds me, I have Brom’s ring, which he sent as confirmation of his identity,” Ajihad continued, opening a drawer and picking up a ring. He handed it to Eragon, who accepted it with reverence. “I was keeping it for when he returned to Tronjheim. Now that he’s dead, I suppose it belongs to you now, and I think he would have wanted you to have it.”

“I… I am honoured,” Eragon gulped.

Ajihad nodded gravely, then pushed back his chair and stood. He faced Saphira and spoke to her, his voice swelling in power. “Do not think I have forgotten you, O mighty dragon. I have said these things as much for your benefit as for Eragon’s. It is even more important that you know them, for to you falls the task of guarding him in these dangerous times. Do not underestimate your might nor falter at his side, because without you he will surely fall.”

Saphira lowered her head until their eyes were level and stared at him through slit black pupils. They examined each other silently, neither of them blinking. Ajihad was the first to move. He lowered his eyes and said softly, “It is indeed a privilege to meet you.”

Saphira swung her head to face Eragon, and a moment later he said, “She wants you to know that she is impressed with both Tronjheim and with you. The Empire is right to fear you. And she wants you to know that… that if you had decided to kill me, she would’ve destroyed Tronjheim and torn you apart with her teeth.”

Helena chuckled, being used to dragons. Ajihad, though, looked at the blue dragon seriously.

“I would expect nothing less from one so noble,” Ajihad said to Saphira. “Before Helena’s stunt with the twins, I would say they would no doubt have been able to defend me. Now, though… I think not.”

Helena quirked an eyebrow, even as Eragon looked confused between them. “While I am a special case, Eragon is a far more powerful magician than the ferret and his brother. The absence of Riders has made them overestimate themselves. And I think you’re all underestimating what happens when you manage to anger a dragon.”

Saphira growled in confirmation.

“Indeed,” Ajihad nodded thoughtfully. Then he straightened, and with a lordly air called, “Orik!”

The cedar door opened, and the dwarf from before hurried into the room and stood before the desk, crossing his arms.

Ajihad frowned at him, irritated, “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Orik. I’ve had to listen to one of the twins complain all morning about your insubordination. They won’t let it rest until you are punished. Unfortunately, they’re right. It’s a serious matter that cannot be ignored. An accounting his due.”

Orik’s eyes flickered toward Eragon, but his face betrayed no emotion. He spoke quickly in rough tones. “The kull were almost around Kostha-merna. They were shooting arrows at the dragon, Eragon, and Murtagh, but the twins did nothing to stop it. Like… _sheilven_ , they refused to open the gates, even though we could see Eragon shouting the opening phrase on the other side of the waterfall. And they refused to take action when Eragon did not rise from the water. Perhaps I did wrong, but I couldn’t let a Rider die.”

“I wasn’t strong enough to get out of the water myself,” Eragon offered. “I would have drowned if he hadn’t pulled me out.”

Ajihad glanced at him, then asked Orik seriously, “And later, why did you oppose them?”

Orik raised his chin defiantly. “It wasn’t right for them to force their way into Murtagh’s mind. But I wouldn’t have stopped them if I’d know who he was.”

“No, you did the right thing, though it would be simpler if you hadn’t. It isn’t our place to force our way into people’s minds, no matter who they are.” Ajihad fingered his dense beard. “Your actions were honourable, but you did defy a direct order from your commander. The penalty for that has always been death.”

Orik’s back stiffened, and Eragon was about to speak. Helena grabbed his arm, and he shot her an incredulous look. Helena returned the look, motioning to Ajihad; she had gotten enough of a feeling of him to know he won’t allow that. Hesitantly, Eragon nodded, and Helena was more relieved than she would like to admit: Eragon still trusted her.

“However,” Ajihad continued. “The circumstances are a mitigating factor. As of now, Orik, you are removed from active service and forbidden to engage in any military activities under my command. Do you understand?”

Orik’s face darkened, but then he only looked confused. He looked sharply. “Yes.”

“Furthermore, in the absence of your regular duties, I appoint you Eragon’s and Saphira’s guide for the duration of their stay. You are to make sure they receive every comfort and amenity we have to offer. Saphira will stay in the Dragonhold with Godric, and Eragon may have any quarters he wishes,” Ajihad said, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

A broad grin grew on Helena’s face. She knew she was starting to like Ajihad for a reason.

Orik bowed low. “I understand.”

“Very well, you may all go. Send in the twins as you leave.”

Eragon bowed and began to leave, then asked, “Where can I find Arya? I would like to see her.”

“No one is allowed to visit her. You will have to wait until she comes to you,” Ajihad answered, already looking down at his desk in a clear dismissal. Helena didn’t blame him: it seemed that the alliance with the elves hinged on Arya getting well again.

Exiting Ajihad’s office, the twins entered after them, closing the cedar door behind them.

“I’m sorry that you’re in trouble because of me,” Eragon apologised to Orik.

“Don’t bother yourself,” Orik grunted, tugging on his beard. “Ajihad gave me what I wanted.”

“But-!” Eragon began but cut himself off. Then he looked thoughtful. “He just placed you in a pretty powerful position, didn’t he?”

Orik chuckled deeply. “That he did. He is a good leader; he understands how to keep the law yet remain just.”

“The ferret and his brother must be grinding their teeth,” Helena said chipperly. “They can’t complain about it. In the eyes of the law, you have been punished.”

Eragon turned to her, “Okay, what is it with you and the twins? They’re not the slightest bit pleasant, I agree, but you seem to have it out for them.”

Helena shrugged. “We’ve had some disagreements.”

“Disagreements? Ha!” Orik barked out a laugh. He turned to Eragon, pointing a thumb at Helena. “The lass turned one of them into a ferret for several days.”

Eragon shot her a scandalised look. Helena rolled her eyes. “I turned him back into a human, as you can see. Unfortunately…” the last part was muttered darkly.

Saphira chuffed in laughter, clearly happy to hear that the twins had suffered some at Helena’s hands. As the laughter died down, though, Helena and Eragon then just stood there, awkwardly across from each other.

“I know we need to talk,” Helena broke the silence. “But it would probably be for the best if you got to eat first and got a bath.”

“Are you saying that I stink?” Eragon joked, quirked an eyebrow and putting a hand on his hip.

“You are rather rank,” Helena chuckled with him.

There was a moment of silence, and then Eragon asked, “Why don’t you come with?”

“To bathe with you?”

Eragon looked horrified and his face reddened. Helena began to laugh.

“No! No, to eat!” Eragon assured her. “I meant to eat! Not bathe!”

Helena wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Thank you, I needed that,” she got her laughter under control. “While it isn’t the worst offer I have gotten, I think you need some time getting to know Orik.” She paused. “I also need to have a chat with Godric.”

As soon as Helena had mentioned Godric, several emotions passed over Eragon’s face and Saphira began to growl. Helena looked seriously between the two and sighed.

“Like I said, I know that there are things we need to talk about,” Helena repeated. “But until we sit down and do just that, can we keep it civil?” Her eyes flickered towards Saphira, “Or at least non-violent?”

“We can,” Eragon sighed. He looked her in the eyes. “When and where?”

“I’ll be up in the Dragonhold,” Helena answered. “Get something to eat and take a bath. Then meet me up there?”

Slowly, Eragon nodded. “Alright.”

~ BWaC ~

“How long have you been with the Varden?” Eragon asked a few hours later. They sat in two plush chairs that Helena had conjured almost in the exact middle of the Star Sapphire. Here, as one of the only places in Farthen Dûr, the night sky was visible.

“About a month,” Helena answered. “We… had a bit of a rocky start to our relationship.”

Eragon frowned. “Will you tell? And I mean, everything that happened after…”

Helena sighed. “Of course, but let's get the erumpent out of the room first, shall we? Godric grabbed me and left in the middle of the ambush, and if he hadn’t maybe Brom would still be alive.”

Eragon looked away, over at Saphira. She was lying behind Eragon, just as Godric was lying behind Helena. He stayed like that for almost half a minute, more than likely communicating with Saphira. Then he sighed deeply.

He looked up at Godric, “I don’t blame you.” Shaking his head, he looked at Helena. “I don’t blame either of you.”

Surprisingly, it is Godric who answered. ‘ _You don’t?’_

Eragon laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. An ugly sound coming from Eragon, but Helena couldn’t blame him.

“I don’t,” Eragon confirmed Godric. He made a small motion with his head, “I did for a while. Man, did I blame you for a while. Brom had died, and I got to… a very dark place in my mind as we travelled up the western edge of Hadarac.” He paused, looking down onto his clasped hands in his lap. “I was angry. Furious. I _hated_ you, Godric.”

Godric shifted his weight but didn’t shy away.

“It wasn’t a hard thing to do. You never made your opinion of me a secret,” Eragon continued, looking Godric straight into the eyes. Then he looked at Helena. “And then I began blaming you as well.”

Helena wouldn’t lie. That hurt to hear, even if she knew it was perfectly reasonable for Eragon to feel that way.

Eragon took a deep, settling breath. He leant back in his chair and looked up at the stars. Saphira shifted and continue the tale.

‘ _Losing the old one… It wasn’t easy. He had saved Eragon on more than one occasion. I will miss him,’_ Saphira explained. ‘ _I let Eragon feel what he was feeling. He needed to feel. But I could feel him darken, becoming someone who was just not him. So, one night, when he was all but punching the ground in frustration, I gave him a thrashing.’_

Helena’s eyebrows rose. Eragon looked fondly at Saphira, putting a hand on her snout. A pleased rumble sounded from within Saphira’s chest.

“It took some time to try and put things into perspective,” Eragon continued when he had turned back to Helena. He bit his lip and sighed. “I can never say that I think the situation was okay, and I will never forget that night. But… I don’t blame you.”

Helena looked perplexed at Eragon. And at Saphira. “Just like that? You don’t blame us?” Before Eragon could answer, Helena stood and ran a hand through her hair. “Merlin, Eragon, he was like a father to you! I saw that! How can you just-.”

“It is _not_ ‘just like that!” Eragon told her sharply, cutting her off. He, too, stood up. “By the gods, if it were only so.” He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a settling breath. He sat down once again, and so did Helena. “I can’t forget it, Helena, I will _never_ forget it. But the situation was a mess, and out of control. Had our situations been reversed, Saphira wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same thing.” He paused. “In fact, she didn’t.”

Helena looked confused and glanced at Saphira.

Saphira had a sombre look on her face as she explained. ‘ _When the Ra’zac attacked Garrow, Eragon was running back to the farm, ready to face them. I took him and flew us into the Spine. When he finally managed to talk me into returning, Garrow was dead.’_

Eragon’s fist clenched and his jaw tightened as he looked at Helena. “I will _never_ be all right with Brom being dead, nor with how it happened. But you are not to blame for it. I know that now. The Ra’zac are. The Black king is. But not you.”

Helena sighed deeply as a heavy silence settled on them.

“It will not happen again,” Helena promised him after another minute. “Never.”

Eragon rubbed his forehead. “I know.” He then looked her in the eyes and smiled softly, “Just so you know, even when I was angry with you and Godric, I missed you. So much.”

The mood lightened right away, and the hot flutter in Helena’s stomach returned.

She shot him a wry smile. “That hug in front of Ajihad’s office should be evidence enough to know just how much I missed you as well. But if you need to hear me say it out loud, I’ll gladly do it; I’ve missed the hell out of you.”

Eragon chuckled and blushed. Helena’s grin widened.

Helena then answered Eragon’s initial question and recounted her journey to the Varden. She told of following the trail crisscross over Surda, and how she bumped into Angela and Solembum. Helena’s heart warmed at how excited Eragon had become on her behalf when he heard Angela knew of Earth. Then she told of finding the tunnels, and finally the scuffle in the tunnels.

“I might have overreacted a bit,” Helena admitted bashfully. Her face fell, and she looked down into her lap. “I’m sorry. If I had been easier on the twins, then perhaps they would’ve been easier on you. I made no secret that I was waiting on you. Since the ferret and his brother haven’t been able to get to me, they must’ve decided to go after you.”

Eragon winced and rubbed the side of his head. “It wasn’t pleasant, I won’t lie to you. But I managed to handle it with Saphira’s help. Murtagh had it much harder; he resisted him, and actually won the mental battle.”

Helena observed Eragon for a few moments and decided just to be frank. "Can Murtagh be trusted?"

Eragon frowned. “Of course!” Helena raised an eyebrow at him, and he coughed into his hand. “Sorry, it’s just… Yes, he can be trusted. Apart from having saved my life at the ambush site, and very likely made your escape possible, he also infiltrated Gil’ead’s prison to save me. And even knowing of the increased risk of meeting the Varden face to face – which you now understand why he wasn’t so keen to do –, he kept up with me through the valley. I owe him… a lot.”

Helena took it in for a moment. Then she smiled at Eragon. “Alright. That was all I needed to know.”

Eragon looked surprised. “You don’t care that he is Morzan’s son?”

Helena raised an eyebrow at Eragon. “Well, apart from me trusting you when you say that he can be trusted, and apart from me not having grown up in Alagaësia and thus I’ve been removed emotionally when it comes to its villains, that he is Morzan’s son doesn’t mean that he is evil incarnate.”

Eragon tilted his head perplexed. “You always seem to take pride in your heritage. The few times you’ve talked about the Potter family, you’ve done so with pride.”

“There’s a difference in taking pride in one’s heritage, and thinking you’re better than others because of it,” Helena pointed out. “Just because I’m a Potter, doesn’t mean I've inherited all the good – and the bad – that my ancestors have done. I’m my own person, with my own successes and failures. And Murtagh is his own person as well.”

Slowly, Eragon nodded, and a smile appeared on his lips. “I’m glad that at least you trust my judgement on Murtagh.” He hesitated, “I didn’t do as well when Murtagh revealed his heritage. In Carvahall, it is everything. It is how you survive. The reputation of your ancestors is everything when you don’t have much else.”

Eragon then began to tell some of Carvahall. Of the people. It wasn’t the first time, but before Dras-Leona, he didn’t do it much. It was easy to tell, that just as much as Helena had a hard time speaking of home, so did Eragon.

Then, suddenly, Eragon’s eyes light up. “Oh! Before I forget…” He walked over to Saphira’s saddle and fiddled with the saddlebag. Then standing up, he held his arms behind his back and walked towards Helena with a huge grin.

“… What?” Helena asked carefully with a chuckle.

“This,” Eragon told her with a huge grin, and then revealed Helena’s beaded bag.

Helena blinked, gaping at the bag for a moment. And then a huge smile got plastered on her face. “Oh, thank, Merlin!” she exclaimed, standing up and taking the bag from Eragon’s hand.

Eragon coughed. “The name is Eragon.”

Helena rolled her eyes, swatting his shoulder. “Prat. But, fine; thank you, Eragon.” She went a step further, hugging him once again and giving him a small peck on the chin.

“Oh, ehm,” Eragon coughed again, his face now having gone completely red. “You’re welcome.”

Helena was blushing as well, though not as intensely. She sat down again. “Really, you do not know how much this means to me. It’s not just that the bag is useful – while difficult to make, I _am_ able to make another –, but it quite literally holds my heritage, all of my worldly possessions.” She grasped it in her hands, looking up at Eragon. “I had hoped that you might’ve grabbed it, but I couldn’t be sure.”

Eragon smiled bashfully, scratching his chin. Then he suddenly looked more subdued. “I have to ask… is there something in there which might’ve been able to help Brom?”

Helena hesitated. “I can’t be sure. I don’t have anything like phoenix tears, which can heal pretty much anything as long as you have tears enough. But… I do have bezoars. They are capable of curing many poisons. Not all, but many.”

Eragon got a pained look on his face, and he looked away. “I see…”

Helena frowned, then looked from Eragon to her bag. “Alright, come here,” Helena requested. Eragon frowned but stood up and walked the few steps to her. She grabbed his hand and put it onto the bag. Putting her marked hand above his, she began muttering a string of incantations, her mark lighting up and the bag responding by vibrating slightly. As she finished, she took her hand off his. “Alright, try to open the bag now.”

Eragon shot her a curious look but complied. That look turned to a surprised one when he indeed could open the bag now.

“Helena!” he looked shocked up at her. “You said that everything you own is in here?” Helena nodded in confirmation. “You shouldn’t have, then.”

Helena smiled softly at him. “I trust you. Now, if you want something from the bag, put your hand into it, and visualise _clearly_ what you want in your mind. It isn’t much different than using magic, only you don’t provide energy for this.”

Eragon did as instructed. His face scrunched up in concentration, and as he retrieved his bag from Dras-Leona, he looked up at her triumphantly.

“Good job!” she complimented him, taking back her bag. Then she hesitated but put her own hand into the bag and retrieved Brom’s bag from Dras-Leona. Eragon’s smile fell from his face as she handed it to him. He took it sadly and walked back to sit in his chair.

 

A few moments passed, but then he looked up with a small, sad smile. “Thank you.” She returned a small smile and a shrug. Eragon took a deep breath. “I still miss him so much.” He looked up at Helena. “Do you?”

“Not in the same way, no,” Helena admitted. “I didn’t have the same kind of relationship with him that you did. But I respected him _deeply_. And… I think we’re worse off now with him dead than we were when he was alive. And I will mourn him. Of course, I will mourn him, but it won’t be like what you’re going through.”

Another moment of silence passed as Eragon took in what she had said. And then he chuckled. Helena looked surprised at him. “I know I’ve said this, but I really did miss you. You don’t shy away from the issue. You’re a lot like him, you know.”

“I know,” Helena answered with a wry smile, accepting it as the compliment it was meant as. “I think the reason that Brom and I clashed as much as we did, was because of how much alike we were.”

Eragon nodded and smiled. “I’m glad we’re together again.

That caused Helena to smirk at him and waggle her eyebrows. “The world better watch out, huh? Nothing is going to stop us now.”

“Poor Galbatorix,” Eragon agreed with a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, chapter nineteen is done. There is one major point I don’t like, and it’s how much of the book I’ve had to include. This meeting with Ajihad in canon is a big turning point, and a lot of things are said and explained that I don’t think can simply be summarized in a few paragraphs. I’ve tried to make up for it by writing a larger chapter, so I hope you will forgive me.  
> And Eragon is back, huh? Being away from Helena has given him a chance to grow up. While they are alike that they won’t be controlled, the question is how much Eragon will approve of Helena strong-arming some issues. They will most definitely be a team, but they won’t agree on everything – far from it.  
> And I know a lot of you wanted Brom to survive, and I’m sure I’m going to receive some backlash for killing him. But the simple truth is, I had never imagined him surviving. Not even for one moment – it isn’t in the story that I have planned. Well, I did try when I found out just how many wanted him alive, but it just won’t work. It complicates things too much.  
> Up next: A Girl Named Helichrysa!  
> Synthesis  
> Dwarven Translations:  
> Sheilven – cowards.


	20. A Girl Named Helichrysa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, ehm… I don’t have a password,” Eragon told the painted lady, still confused.  
> The woman clicked with her tongue. “If you don’t have the password, then you cannot pass.”  
> He looked at the four painted persons in a stupor. It took a few moments to sink into his mind: he had just been turned away by a painting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’ed by Byakko no Akuba

Eragon was looking for Helena. It was some time past noon, and he hadn’t seen her anywhere. Not even Carver, the boy who had followed them around the day before, could tell him her location. According to him, he had gone to her chambers that morning as he did every morning, but she had dismissed him, telling him that she wouldn’t need him for the day. She hadn’t given any other explanation.

According to what Eragon had overheard, Helena hadn’t been idle. While she had spent a significant amount of time in the library, she had been seen and heard during the last month; she healed people in the medical clinic, she had befriended Ajihad’s daughter, Nasuada, and she had taken a shining to the orphans, spending time each day to entertain them. The latter didn't surprise Eragon at all, as he still fondly remembered Helena slipping a handful of crowns to those homeless children in Teirm. Still, it begged the question of where in the world she was.

Eragon had begun his day with somewhat of a startle. He had been eating his oatmeal in one of the handful of dining halls in use (trying to do so without being bothered by the many people who shamelessly gawked at him), when Orik had run up to him and told that the dwarven monarch was expecting him. Eragon, of course, had known that he would need to speak with King Hrothgar, but he had been expecting a little more warning. As it was, he had abandoned his half-eaten bowl, wiped his mouth, and followed Orik down below the Nexus Hall (as Helena had dubbed the room below the Star Rose) to King Hrothgar’s throne room.

King Hrothgar had been very curious about Eragon. That was to be expected, with Eragon being a Rider and all. Still, it had seemed like more, and when Eragon had carefully inquired about it after King Hrothgar had been satisfied with Eragon’s answers, King Hrothgar had simply said that ‘ _Lady Potter has made a good impression on the dwarven people. She implied that you were a good man.’_ He hadn’t elaborated, and the audience was over before Eragon could ask about it.

Helena had indeed not been idle.

It was Eragon’s third day there, and as many challenges as he had already faced since his arrival, it quickly became clear that without Helena, he would've been met with many more. Helena had fought a political battle for the last month, carving a space for the Dragon Riders _alongside_ the Varden, but not part of it. She also seemed to have set some ground rules as to when and how they should be approached, so they wouldn’t get swarmed by the mob.

That, however, had not stopped a woman from grabbing his foot when he had been about to mount Saphira after his visit with Angela, and demand that he bless a child. Now he was impressed by her boldness, but at the time he had been frightened. She had been more than intense. He would’ve denied her, but Ajihad’s words had echoed in his mind as a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. So, he had blessed her in the Ancient Language – and then Saphira had done something even she couldn’t explain and left a silver marking (not unlike the gedwëy ignasia) on the child's forehead.

 

To say that Helena hadn’t been pleased would be putting it lightly. Somehow, she had managed to track him down a mere twenty minutes after the fact and had greeted him with a none-too-light slap to the back of his neck and a ‘ _What in Morgana’s name did you do!?’_. After he had explained himself to her, she had gotten that tight look on her face that she got when there was nothing she could do. She had pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something along the lines of ‘ _Only twenty-four hours in Tronjheim, and you’re already stirring up trouble’._ Eragon wouldn’t lie; he had been affronted by that. He hadn’t hesitated to defend himself and explained things to her. Her response had been less than pleased, but she had sighed heavily, telling there was nothing to do about it – but also told him _not_ to _bless_ anyone else.

Helena could be preachy, Eragon knew that. She was far from infallible, and while she had made things easier for him in the Varden, he didn't approve of everything she had done. She was abrasive and stubborn, and when some of the powers in the Varden had tried to get her to do things, she had brushed them off. Honestly, she was dangerous. It was outweighed by her pure heart – thank the gods – but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do harm without intention.

It was strange being together with Helena again. Strange, but a good change. He was so grateful that Saphira had gotten him out of his stupor after Brom’s death because recalling how he had begun to blame Helena… He was in a dark place, and that blame had slowly been turning into animosity towards his fellow Rider. He hadn’t lied to Helena when he had told her he didn’t blame her anymore, but neither had he lied when he had said that it wasn’t ‘just like that’. He wouldn’t be able to forget, and, even now, at times he got angry with Helena. And with himself. And Godric. Just the whole situation. It was iniquitous that Brom was dead, and Eragon would most likely carry an anger over that for a long while.

Arriving at the Varden, the thought hadn’t crossed Eragon’s mind that Helena might be there. He didn’t believe he could be blamed for that oversight; the flight from Gil’ead with a dying elf strapped on Saphira and a horde of kull at his heels had overshadowed everything. That was why he had frozen as he had when he had spotted her outside of Ajihad’s office. A thousand-and-one thoughts had rushed through his mind.

Then Helena had hugged him. Tightly.

That had been more than unexpected. Helena had never shied away from him and hadn’t been afraid of taking him by the arm, or, more often, swatting him when he was ‘being a prat’ (he still had absolutely no idea what that word meant). But in these last days, she had hugged him more times (and even pecked him on the cheek that one time up in the Dragonhold) than she had in the entirety of their time together between Teirm and Dras-Leona. It was nice.

Maybe he was just imagining things. Eragon honestly didn’t know. That Helena was something of an enigma wasn’t news. He was just relieved to be reunited with her.

Thinking of Helena inevitably made him think of Arya. It was no secret that he had become slightly obsessed with the elf; but, come on, any person would be if they had literally been hunted in their dreams by her. Finding her battered and bruised, clear signs of torture on her broken body had been a major shock to his system, and as they had rescued and healed her, Eragon had felt a surge of protectiveness for her. Eragon had spent far too much time with the women of Carvahall and Helena to think that women were fragile, and he had kept in mind what Brom had told of the elven people, but he couldn’t help but feel what he felt. Women might not be inherently fragile, but any person, man _or_ woman, would be after going through what Arya had gone through. Eragon would hope that if Arya had been a man, that he would have felt just as protective. He couldn’t say for sure, but he honestly hoped for it.

Getting Arya to the Varden in time had been a close call. Now that he knew that she was conscious, he almost couldn’t wait to meet her face to face; he had communicated with her mind directly – and if it hadn’t for his experiences with Helena’s foreign mind, he would’ve been much more shocked at the time –, but he wanted to have an actual, verbal conversation with her, and he wanted to see with his own eyes that she was not going to die. He would never assume that she would be even remotely ‘alright’ after the ordeal at Gil’ead, but if she wasn't going to die, she would have a chance of becoming ‘alright', and perhaps even ‘good'.

Eragon chuckled out loud. Between Saphira, Helena, and Arya, it seemed that he was bound to have headstrong females in his life. And he was okay with that. Even more, he was sure it was making him a better person.

It was no wonder, then, that when he spent every waking – and unconscious – moment with Saphira, and couldn't talk to Arya, that Eragon wanted to spend time with his fellow Rider. Not that Helena necessarily came third. Helena came… Eragon wasn't sure where she placed. He just knew that she was important to him, and he wanted to be with her.

Yes, in more ways than just one.

Eragon had walked halfway around Tronjheim (or it felt like that) without spotting Helena, when he came across Orik.

"Eragon!" Orik greeted him heartily with a pat on the back that made Eragon stumble. "I heard good things about yer audience. Ye did well.”

Eragon shot a wry smile to Orik. “I do believe Helena made it easier for me.”

“Ye shouldn’t sell yerself short, lad,” Orik told him. “Lady Potter might’ve influenced my uncle’s expectations some, but he judges ye for yer own worth.”

“Many of your people seem to hold Helena in high regard,” Eragon noted.

“Some do, aye,” Orik confirmed, and even he had a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Ye heard of how she arrived here?” Eragon nodded. “She chose to turn down a summon to the Varden to keep her word to the King. None too many humans have or would do that. While we are allied with the Varden, many thinks that the humans have gotten a tad too comfortable here in our capital. Lady Potter gave us a chance to remind them that this _is_ our capital.”

“There seems to be a lot of friction between the Varden and the dwarves.”

"Don't ye worry, lad," Orik grinned at him and patted him on the arm. “While we might bicker a bit, the dwarves and the Varden are committed to seeing the end of the Black King.”

That was a relief to hear.

“Have you seen Helena today?” Eragon then asked Orik. “Or perhaps know where her chambers are?”

Orik frowned. "Now that ye mention it, I haven't seen the lass about. Strange." The dwarf shook his head. "Lady Potter has chosen a room someway up Tronjheim. She lived in the Dragonhold for a while, but after the wee lad was assigned to her, she moved further down. I’m thinking she took pity on his legs. Come now, I’ll show ye the way.”

After having walked up a fair few stories on the Endless Staircase, Eragon didn’t have to ask when they were nearing Helena’s chambers. Despite being as far up Tronjheim as they were (which were still some stories below Angela’s chambers), a crowd of people were filling up the hallway. Humans and dwarves were chattering and pointing. Making their way through the crowd, Eragon’s confusion was replaced by surprise and shock.

“Barzul,” Orik exclaimed. Eragon didn’t blame him.

In place of the door to Helena’s chambers was instead a giant painting, half again as tall as Eragon and standing near a dozen feet wide. That alone wasn’t what was most surprising, however; the painting was _alive_.

It depicted four persons sitting around a round wooden table, two men and two women, all of them looking to be middle-aged. The man furthermost to the left was a muscular man with a lion-like mane of red hair and a beard to match, with a set of piercing green eyes that looked oddly familiar. Beside him on his left sat an indeed very beautiful yet austere-looking and slightly intimidating woman; she had midnight-black hair tied up in elaborate braids and eyes to match. Another woman sat beside her again but looking the opposite very much; this woman was round and plump, with curly cobber hair and striking blue eyes. Lastly, sitting on the left of the plump woman and across from the lion-like man was another man; he was thin and not-quite gaunt, bald with piercing brown eyes, and a long thin, greying beard that had once been brown. All of them wore robes the likes Helena had once shown him, and, when he looked, he could spot a wooden stick on each of them – wands. They were witches and wizards, Eragon surmised. Several strange objects, that Eragon couldn’t identify for the world, were strewn upon the table, along with what Eragon believed was a deck of cards. This was further proven when each of the four persons was sitting with a few cards in their hands each.

Eragon let out a half-laugh. He was taking it leagues better than the people around him, half of which were cursing under their breaths, the other half was discussing who should approach the painting for divine favors. Orik, it seemed, was still undecided on what to think, but seemed to hold onto Eragon’s not-quite unfazed reaction.

Don’t get him wrong, Eragon _was_ affected by being in front of a living painting. He was shocked. But he had travelled with Helena for months, and he had learned to take some of these things in stride. And it was probably a good thing he had learned to take such things in stride, because he was sure, as he travelled to Du Weldenvarden, that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw things he didn’t quite want to believe.

Approaching the painting, the people around him fell to a hush as they recognized him. The four people in the painting noticed too – they had been unbothered so far, seeming content with playing cards. They looked up at him – and wasn’t that strange, being observed by four painted people?

“Ehm… hello?” Eragon greeted uncertainly.

The four people scrutinized him for a few more seconds. Then the stern-looking woman spoke up.

“Password?” she asked of him.

Eragon blinked. “What?”

“What is the password?” she repeated, seemingly annoyed at his confusion. She spoke in a thick accent not altogether unlike the ones the dwarves spoke in. Similar, though not the same.

“I, ehm… I don’t have a password,” Eragon told the painted lady, still confused.

The woman clicked with her tongue. “If you don’t have the password, then you cannot pass.”

He looked at the four painted persons in a stupor. It took a few moments to sink into his mind: he had just been turned away by a _painting_. In the back of his mind, he could feel Saphira roaring with laughter. He ignored her.

“But I know Helena!” Eragon exclaimed after a moment. “I’m also a Dragon Rider.”

“No password, no entrance,” the woman told him in a no-nonsense voice.

“Hah,” the lion-man exclaimed, grinning. “I still can’t believe my great-granddaughter has tamed one of those beasts.”

The other man rose an eyebrow at the lion-man. “Be careful, Godric. I don’t think Helena sees your namesake as a beast.”

Eragon blinked, looking at the lion-man. If that was Godric’s namesake, he had to be Godric Gryffindor. And if he was Godric Gryffindor, the other three had to be Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Helena hadn’t told much, but she had told enough. Just by the way Helena had spoken of them in reverence, Eragon couldn’t help but feel a bit humbled.

Then he remembered that they were in a painting and had denied him entrance.

“I’m serious,” Eragon told them, getting a bit angry. He raised his right hand, showing his gedwëy insignia. “Look.”

And they did.

Godric frowned. “I don’t recognize that. Do you?” Both Rowena and Salazar denied it, but Eragon was saved by Helga.

“I do believe I saw something similar on her left hand,” the founder of Hufflepuff House mused. She looked over at the other witch in the painting. Rowena sighed heavily.

“I will go ask her,” Rowena conceded. Then she looked sternly at the other founders. “But none of you will look at my cards.” They all promised and swore up and down they wouldn’t do it. Looking up, Rowena pointed at Eragon. “You. Make sure of it.”

Eragon could do nothing but nod numbly at her command. And then he could only gawk as she disappeared out the side of the frame.

Godric chuckled. “Don’t look so frightened lad. Rowena might have an icy exterior, but once you get close to her, you discover she’s only merely frosty.”

Salazar snorted, but Helga shot the lion-man a disapproving look.

“You are terrible, Godric.”

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

Helga sighed, which caused Godric to let out a bark of laughter. The founder of Gryffindor House then turned to Eragon.

“You say you know my great-granddaughter?” Godric asked of him.

“Helena?” Eragon asked to be sure.

“Aye, her. My granddaughter, many times removed, of course,” Godric confirmed. “But you know her?”

Eragon didn’t answer right away. “I travelled with her for months, and I’ve come to know her. There are still many things I don’t know about her yet, though.”

“Sounds like Helena,” Salazar noted nonchalantly.

“Aye,” Godric nodded proudly. He looked back at Eragon. “That lass, she might embody courage like the best of them, but she has made no secret that she can manipulate and use her cunning like my friend here.”

Before Eragon could respond, Rowena returned to the painting. Sitting down and giving the other founders a suspicious look, she then turned to Eragon. “You may pass.”

The painting then swung up just like a door, revealing the doorway to Helena’s chambers. This caused the other people in the hallway to start muttering about themselves again.

Eragon turned to Orik, who looked just the tiniest bit pale. “Thank you for showing me the way.”

“Of... Of course," Orik answered in a stupor.

Eragon nodded at the dwarf and turned to walk through the doorway behind the painting. He froze after only having taken a few steps, as the painting shut close behind him with a small thud. He might have handled the shock of a talking painting but seeing Helena’s chambers… it was something even his brain needed some time to adjust to.

Just like Angela’s chambers, Helena’s chambers consisted of two rooms. The similarities ended there, however, as Helena’s chambers were – quite literally – out of this world. The whole room had a color-scheme of different shades of reds and gold, the furniture was a deep wooden brown, and the floor was covered by a soft carpet instead of the hard marble of the rest of Tronjheim. Despite Helena’s room being too far from Tronjheim’s outer wall to have a window, Helena did indeed have a window on the wall opposite the entrance. Furthermore, what was outside of the window was most certainly not Farthen Dûr, as Eragon could spot lots of green, water, and even the sky with a few clouds drifting by from where he was standing. In front of the window stood a solid wooden desk, with a single candle burning and papers scattered across it, the urgal note the Ajihad had given Helena and a map being amongst them. In the middle of the room stood a scarlet couch with a coffee table in front of an honest-to-gods fireplace with a burning fire. The smoke was lead up into a chimney, despite the fact that that was impossible. The wall opposite the fireplace was filled with moving paintings, most of them, though, much different to the one that he had spoken to (he still couldn’t think that sentence without thinking himself just a bit crazy); many of these paintings looked _real_. The painting of the Founders that he had talked to, he could see what it depicted, but he could also see that it was a painting – a few mistakes, the brushstrokes, things like that. These, however, looked _real_ ; they looked as if they were small windows into other worlds. The separate room was smaller, and in the center was a huge four-poster bed, but he couldn't see what else was in that room.

Music also filled the room. It was the kind Eragon had never heard before; it was slow and melancholy but had an underlying rhythm the was altogether foreign. It took him a few moments to locate the source; a small, wooden box with strange protrusions and a thin metal stick, no larger than him being able to pick it up and hold it in his hands. His brain failed to grant him an explanation, so he decided to ignore how the box ignored all logic, and simply appreciated its wonder.

Helena was sat on the couch and had a book of moving paintings in front of her. She was currently holding one of them in her hands (and, thus, Eragon could also see that the paper used was unlike any he had seen used for paintings). A moment later he heard a sniffle, and as it was followed by another and yet another, Eragon could only surmise that Helena was crying. Eragon could not ever remember seeing – nor hearing – Helena cry. She could get angry and had a fantastic and terrifying temper, but he hadn’t ever seen her cry.

It was more than a bit unsettling. Much less so than when she had fallen unconscious after teleporting them all out of Dras-Leona, but still the same feeling. Helena was mortal, a person who wasn’t invincible, and Eragon was seeing her more and more as such.

Helena glanced up at him. He could see the red in her eyes. She _had_ been crying but wasn’t quite crying anymore. That was something, at least. He truly had no idea how to handle Helena like this.

“Hello, Eragon,” she greeted him in a soft voice. Again, so unlike how she usually sounded. It almost seemed frail. She gave him a watery smile. Then her eyes ran him up and down, and it turned to a frown. “Where is your sword?”

“Zar’roc? I left it with Saphira,” Eragon answered puzzled.

Helena’s frown deepened. “You shouldn’t walk around without it.” She motioned beside him where the Sword of Gryffindor was on display. On display, yes, but not bolted fast or anything; it was ready for her to grab at a moment’s notice. He turned back to look at her.

“You do know it used to belong to Morzan?”

“Yes, and?” Helena prompted him.

Eragon looked bewildered at her. “You said it yourself, there has always been a strained relationship between the Riders and the dwarves, and Morzan did not make that relationship any easier. Have you any idea of just how many of our allies lives this sword must've taken?"

“Quite a few, according to the books,” Helena answered plainly.

Eragon blinked. "You actually do have an idea?"

“Of course.”

Eragon blinked again. Then he chuckled. “Of course,” he repeated after her.

Helena smiled gently at him. “I get where you’re coming – truly I do. But despite its history, that sword is an amazing sword, a work of art even. More importantly, it is a sword that _you_ have become intimately familiar with. It’s idiotic not to use it simply because of who it used to belong to. The sword’s former owner might’ve been an evil man, but the sword itself is just an instrument. Give it a new story – wield it against Galbatorix. I can’t really see a worse insult to the Black King and Morzan’s legacy than that.”

“Saphira might’ve said something similar,” Eragon admitted.

Helena made a half-shrug. “Great minds think alike.” Eragon rolled his eyes at that. “A rule of thumb, though: an item or object is only inherently dangerous if it can communicate with you by its own power. If you come across such an object, promise me that you won’t interact with it. Lock it up, somehow, and bring it to me.”

“I promise,” Eragon gave his word.

“Good,” Helena nodded decisively. “As for Zar’roc… While Tronjheim is a lot safer than being hunted by the Ra'zac, or what you have gone through in and after Gil’ead, you should remember that the Varden are also dangerous. Remember the conversation we had with Brom outside of Teirm, and why he postponed bringing you specifically here for so long." A strained look overtook her face and she shook her head. “Just take a look at the twins. They’re all but salivating over the knowledge we keep in our heads. They’ve been sated some, as they did indeed learn a new word or two in the Ancient Language when I gave my oath, but that will not satisfy them for long. And they are only the most obvious danger here.”

“Helena,” Eragon said and stopped Helena from continuing her speech. “I get it. Believe me, I do. I promise I’ll carry Zar’roc with me wherever I go.”

“Also when you bathe,” Helena told him seriously.

“Also when I bathe,” Eragon confirmed. He wouldn’t mock her. And he wasn’t just saying it to appease his counterpart; he indeed could see the wisdom in her words. “I promise.”

Helena looked relieved. “Thank you.”

While she might have gotten a bit preachy, Eragon at least knew her well enough to know that it was because she cared about him. And that warmed his stomach and made him smile lightly.

Helena turned her attention back onto the painting in her hand. Eragon stood awkwardly at the entrance for a few additional moments before he walked the few steps over to the couch and sat down beside her. It was a lot closer than he would have sat before they had split up, and his heart was pounding away as he waited for her to either tell him off spectacularly or simply move a bit away from him. She did neither, though, and a smile made its appearance on his face.

Eragon then turned his eyes on the painting in Helena’s hands, and his smile fell somewhat. It was of Helena and a tall, redheaded guy. They were wearing clothes utterly exotic to him, though, as with the painting of the Founders and the music box, Eragon took that in stride. He was more concerned with the way Helena had her arms wrapped around the redheaded guy’s chest, and how one of his arms was snaked around her waist. His other arm went out of a frame towards Eragon in a manner Eragon couldn't quite figure out, only his hand was not visible. Helena and the redheaded guy were alive like the Founders, though they made no sound; they were instead interchangeably grinning and making funny faces at Eragon and then turning and smiling softly and blissfully at each other.

Eragon could feel a lump forming in his throat. He looked over at Helena; she carried a great sadness in her eyes. He had never asked her, and she had never said anything, but did she have someone waiting on her on Earth? One who had courted her before she went away? A fiancé? Maybe even a husband?

He didn’t want to ask her. And, thank the gods, he didn’t have to, because Helena spoke up before he had gathered his courage.

“His name was Fred,” Helena told Eragon. Eragon didn’t miss the past tense. For a moment he felt relief – and then it was overtaken by shame for having felt such. He looked from Helena down at the painting.

“You look happy.” And they did, they honestly did.

Helena gave a watery smile as her eyes teared up. “We were.” Then her smile fell, and she put the painting back into the book. Eragon only gets a brief look at the other paintings on the two pages displayed before Helena closed the book. “I hadn’t noticed the date. I’ve been too caught up in… everything.”

Eragon looked over at his counterpart. “And what is the date?”

Helena gulped. “It’s the Second of May. Today it is the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. One year since the Second Wizarding War ended. One year since I lost… a lot of people. Fred included.”

He didn’t respond right away. Eragon took a settling breath, and then asked, "Who was he?”

Helena looked at him, and a smile played on her face despite the subject. “Are you asking because you are curious? Or is it for more personal reasons?” Eragon blushed bright red and avoided her searching stare. “Not that it matters, I guess.” She sighed deeply. “You know by now that things on Earth are different than it is here on Alagaësia. Romance, too, is different. Still, even by Earth standards, what Fred and I had can only be described as ‘messy’." She trailed off, looking into the hearth. "Fred was my best mate's older brother. For years we danced around each other. We had our moments but would mostly flirt wildly with each other. First, it was because it bothered Ron so much, and we both loved to mess with him. Later it just became our thing to flirt like that, and others wouldn't blink twice when we did it. Then, when I was fifteen, he took me on a date, and we began telling people we were boyfriend and girlfriend. People thought we were kidding, but when they saw us kissing, they had to reevaluate that assessment.” Helena chuckled at that memory, even as Eragon’s mouth went dry. Helena’s face fell. “He had to leave school that year. While we had the different holidays together, the war then started in earnest the year after, and we agreed to put our relationship on hold until the war was over. No distractions, you know. And then… he just died.”

Helena had pulled her feet up on the couch and was hugging her knees tightly to her chest. She had a tight look on her face. Eragon hesitated for more than just a few moments, but then he put an arm around her shoulders. She tensed up at first, and Eragon was sure she was finally going to tell him off. But then she relaxed, and even leaned into him slightly. He tightened his hold on her shoulders but didn't try anything more. This was about what he thought she needed, not what he wanted.

They sat like that for a while. Eragon didn’t know how long, but he enjoyed being able to be there for his counterpart. Eventually, Helena made a small move, and Eragon knew the time had come, and he retrieved his arm from around her. She shot him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“Always,” Eragon smiled. That was the wrong thing to say, he surmised, though, as Helena flinched at it. Eragon frowned at that. “Helena, I do have a lot of questions.”

Helena chuckled. “Of course, you do. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have questions.” Eragon didn’t deny it, watching her steadfastly. Helena turned more serious, slowly nodding – to herself or to Eragon, Eragon couldn't tell. "I guess it _is_ time for you to know a bit more about my life. You’ve never made a secret of anything.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to tell me anything,” Eragon told her. And he meant that. “I do _want_ to know, but I don't need to. It won't make me think less or more of you.”

Helena smiled softly. “I know. And that is why I feel comfortable telling you. But I don’t want to go through this multiple times. So, if you want to know, I’m going to tell you everything, and that is going to be a lot. It’s going to take time. Are you sure you want to know?”

Eragon hesitated, but then nodded. “I am.”

Helena sighed. “Very well, get comfortable then.” And Eragon did. He took his shoes off and brought his feet up onto the coach not unlike Helena. He sat leaning back on the armrest, Helena mirroring him on the other end of the couch. “I guess my story really begins with the First Wizarding War. It began in 1970 and lasted until 1981. For reference, we are in the year 1999. It was during this war that Lord Voldemort came into power. He preyed on all the weaknesses in our society; he promised the purebloods that their families would be in power again, he made the weak feel powerful by feeling a part of something, he promised free reign for outcast creatures like werewolves, vampires, and giants. He built up an army, and it got so bad, that the violence spilt over into the muggle world, and we had to warn their prime minister – their leader. He became so feared that even his name wasn’t mentioned; people instead referred to him as ‘You-Know-Who’ and ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’.”

Eragon couldn’t help it. He snorted. Helena shot him a look at that. “I’m sorry.”

Helena wasn’t mad, though. “I don’t blame you. When I first entered the Wizarding World, I was like that as well. I thought it ridiculous. But… I understand a bit better now, having been through a war against him. I can never understand fully the terror that people felt back then, though. The Second Wizarding War only officially lasted two years. The First War lasted eleven, and at first, people didn’t know who was attacking. But here’s food for thought: in my parents’ generation, the average student-number of a single year at Hogwarts was well over a hundred. In my generation, we were forty students.”

Eragon gawked. “He killed children?”

Helena nodded. “He did, but that wasn’t why there were so few students in my year. People were so afraid of Voldemort, so afraid of the violence of the world, that they stopped having children. They, simply put, didn’t want to bring a child into a world that could take the child away just as quickly.”

Eragon didn’t know how to respond to that. While there was no question that Galbatorix was a tyrant, he was mostly an unknown, vague figure. Besides the soldiers who came through yearly to tax people, Carvahall had lived in peace. So had Teirm, as far as Eragon knew, and many of the most southern cities as well. Even in cities like Gil’ead and Dras-Leona, it was the lords of the cities whose powers were felt, not Galbatorix’s own. Few indeed had chosen not to have children because of how the world was. Eragon couldn’t imagine the terror Helena’s people must’ve lived through to make such a choice.

“Voldemort was rampaging through Magical Britain, and while there was resistance against him, nothing seemed to be able to stop him,” Helena continued her tale. “And then a prophecy was made.” Eragon’s eyebrow shot up below his hairline. “It said: _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._ ” Helena didn’t speak for several moments, leaving the ominous words of the prophecy hanging in the air. “I was born the thirty-first of July. My parents turned down Voldemort’s offer to join him three times.”

“The prophecy was about you,” Eragon stated.

Helena nodded heavily. “It could have been about another person as well. My friend, Neville Longbottom. He was born on the thirtieth of July, and his parents had defied Voldemort three times as well. But Voldemort chose to see my parents as the greater threat and believed the prophecy to be about their child – me. And so, it was.”

Eragon frowned. “He made the prophecy be about you?”

Helena glanced at him. “Prophecies are never what you think they are. The moment they are made, that true prophecies are made, they influence whoever hears it. You do something, or you don’t do something because of them… They are just a mess. Voldemort believed me to be his rival, and so I became his rival.”

“Just like that?” Eragon asked.

“’Just like that’. Some way to describe my life,” Helena snorted. Then she took a deep breath. “But I guess it was just like that. My parents heard the prophecy and went into hiding. It worked for a long while, but then they were betrayed. Voldemort found us in Godric’s Hollow, where he killed my father and mother. He gave my mother a chance to step out of the way, but she didn’t. And then he tried to kill me, but the Killing Curse backfired. It killed him instead.”

“ _The Killing Curse?_ ” Eragon exclaimed aghast.

Helena blinked. “Oh, yeah. I never did tell you about that, did I?” Eragon shook his head. “It’s one of three curses called the Unforgiveables. And they _are_ unforgivable. The Killing Curses pushes the soul out of the body, damaging it, and thus killing you. You can’t block it with magic. It’s the darkest of dark magic.” Eragon looked with wide eyes at her. She glanced over at him, and then brushed her bangs back. His eyes flew to the scar on her forehead. “My scar was made by the Killing Curse. It will never fade completely.”

“How old were you?”

“Just over one year old,” Helena answered with a sigh. She glanced at him. “Do you want to see my parents?”

Eragon blinked. “I would feel honored.” He truly would.

Helena grabbed the book and put it between them, by their feet. She opened it on the very first page. Unlike the pages where the painting of Fred and her was on, this page was reserved solely for that painting.

The painting displayed a man and a woman, not much older than twenty years old, holding a small child between them. The man had Helena’s dark hair (or, as it was, Helena had his hair), with warm, brown eyes, and he was tall and lanky. The woman had eyes like Helena and a mane of fiery red hair. The baby could only be Helena; Eragon could recognize her by the eyes.

“Is that you?” he asked anyway, pointing to the baby.

Helena gave a half-smile. “It is. Am I adorable?”

“You are,” Eragon agreed, even knowing Helena had joked. Helena blinked, then blushed. “What were their names?”

“Lily and James Potter,” Helena answered.

“Lily, like the flower?” Eragon asked.

Helena nodded. “The women in my mother’s family has always been named after flowers. There is Lily, my mother, Petunia, my aunt, Rose, my grandmother, and Camellia, my great-grandmother”

“Did your parents break the tradition with you?”

“No,” Helena chuckled. “As you know, my real name is Helichrysa. It’s based on the scientific name for the everlasting flower, helichrysum.”

Eragon looked wide-eyed up at her. The everlasting flower. That was a part of Angela’s prophecy, specifically about his epic romance. Was that a coincidence? He wiped the look off of his face, not wanting to explain it to her at this moment – especially not as she clearly wasn’t a fan of prophecies.

“How is the painting made so lifelike?” Eragon asked instead.

“It isn’t a painting. It’s a picture,” Helena corrected him. “I can’t explain the exact details. It’s a muggle invention. The muggle version doesn’t move, though, that’s magic. But it is like painting, just with light.”

“Painting… with light?” Eragon repeated perplexed.

Helena chuckled. “It’s nothing of importance.” She closed the book again and put it on the table. “After my parents were killed, I was given to the Dursleys – my aunt’s family on my mother’s side of the family. Those were… not happy years. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had an obsession with normality, and they knew that I was a witch. They tried to suppress my magic. I mean, I didn’t even know my name was Helichrysa before I was five and the teacher did a roll call. The Dursleys did everything _not_ to say my name; most often it was simply ‘Girl’. When they did have to use my name, they used Helena. Despite them, the name stuck, and I quite like it.”

“Didn’t anyone step in to help?” Eragon asked. While in Carvahall one generally didn’t stick one’s nose into another family’s matter, it wasn’t unheard of. And, from everything Helena had told him about her world, it didn’t seem it had the same restrictions.

Helena made a noncommitted face. “They weren’t stupid. They didn’t outright abuse me. At home – and I’m only using that term in the loosest of definitions – I got more and more chores as I got older. The Dursleys made sure I was never so exhausted that I needed to go to the hospital, and they never smacked me so hard that it would leave a clear mark. But I spent so much time cleaning and cooking and gardening that I had little time to myself, and most certainly not my homework. Thus, the teachers at school thought I was a troublemaker, which my aunt and uncle only agreed with as they told my teacher's outlandish stories of what a tyrant I was at home. And then there was Dudley, my cousin… He _knew_ he could torment me and not get in trouble. For some years, my aunt and uncle even encouraged it. He had this game called Helena Hunting that he played with his friends – and yes it is exactly what it sounds like. But Dudley didn’t have the restraint Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had and left marks frequently. It came to a point where he pushed me down a flight of stairs at school; I got a rather nasty gash on my arm and was taken to the emergency room before my aunt and uncle could stop. Questions were asked. After that, while I still have way too many ‘chores’ for a girl my age, I was more often than not simply sent out of the house and forbidden from returning until late. I took refuge at a local library, and there I befriended Ellie, an elderly librarian. She took a shine to me and was the only one who believed my stories about the Dursleys. She helped me catch up some with school, and in later years she even helped me learn French.”

“French?” Eragon asked, confused.

“Another language,” Helena explained. “What you call the Common Tongue, I call English.”

Eragon’s eyes widened. “You speak another language?” Helena nodded with a grin. “Can I hear it?”

“Bien sûr, monsieur. C’est la langue française. Bien que je ne sois nullement un maître, je peux me débrouille,” Helena told him. It sounded nasal but had a rhythm that the Common Tongue – English, he supposed – didn’t quite have. “Anyway, that was my life for years. And then my letter for admission into Hogwarts arrived. Mind you, I didn’t just _get_ the letter; Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon knew it would come and burned and trashed the letter as it came. But the letter kept arriving at our house, in larger and larger quantities. Then, on a Sunday – where letters aren’t delivered – the house was absolutely _flooded_ with letters. Uncle Vernon took the whole family and fled, to a shack in the middle of nowhere. I had all but given up hope of getting my letter – and it was a big deal to me, as I had never gotten a letter –, when Hagrid, a half-giant, tracked me down just past midnight on my birthday.”

“A half- _giant_?” Eragon asked for clarification.

“Yep,” Helena grinned. “He is family. No doubt about it. He rescued me from the Dursleys and took me to the Wizarding World. No matter how bad things got, I knew that Hagrid was always on my side, even when I might have been in the wrong.”

“He sounds amazing.”

Helena smiled softly. “He is. He is the kindest soul you will ever meet. A bit too trusting at times, and he let his mouth run when he shouldn’t, but there is no one more loyal.” Helena paused as she stared into the fire. “But Hagrid, he took me from the Dursleys. There was still one month until the school year began, so he took me to the Leaky Cauldron – an inn – by Diagon Alley. Now, Diagon Alley is the main shopping street in London for magicals, and it truly is something. If I ever get the opportunity, I’m going to take you there.”

Eragon sat stunned. She had actually kept him in mind when thinking of home? Wanting to show him her world? It caused him to smile.

Helena then began talking about her years at Hogwarts. By the way she talked about the castle, it was clear she could talk about it forever – and she almost did. Eragon sat enraptured as she told her of her first few years of magical schooling, of the friends she made, of the adventures she went on. Battling a mountain troll, finding the philosopher's stone, killing the basilisk, discovering her Godfather and the truth about the night of her parents' murder. She also spent a great deal of time talking about Quidditch, and while at first Eragon had a hard time imagining flying broomsticks, with how enthusiastically she spoke of the sport, he now really wanted to see a game being played.

Then things took a darker turn at the end of her fourth year. It was evident that the specific event where Lord Voldemort was resurrected was still a terrible subject for Helena, and she told him flat-out that she would only give him the cliff notes version. Still, Eragon felt sick and horrible that Helena had to go through that. It was even worse when he found out that Helena spent the next year defending her claim while being ridiculed throughout her nation.

On a lighter note, Eragon didn’t doubt that Helena loved teaching from the way she talked about the Defense Association. Her whole face lit up as she recounted some of their meetings. It made Eragon think; after all the stuff with Galbatorix was over, the Riders would be lucky to have her. As they (hopefully) revived the order and the dragon race, they would need a good teacher to guide the young ones. Of course, Eragon would be there as well, and he wouldn’t shy away from his duties, but to have someone solely focused on teaching… That couldn’t be competed with.

As Helena told of the flight to the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic, Helena got oddly quiet. She slowly told of how she had been tricked, and how her godfather was killed because of it. Her face tightened.

“I chased down Bellatrix,” Helena told Eragon, her voice hard as flint. “When I cornered her, I was so full of hatred. I wanted to hurt her. And so, I did. I cast the Cruciatus Curse on her.”

Eragon blinked. “Wasn’t that one of the…?”

"One of the Unforgiveables, yes," Helena confirmed. "I didn't care then. And I wouldn’t do it differently. I was _good_ at the curse. _Am_ good at the curse, I suppose. Bellatrix screamed her throat raw. She was _frightened_ of _me_. If Voldemort hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Eragon gulped. He didn’t know what to say to that. Helena looked up at him. “It frightens me how good I was at casting the Cruciatus. Of how good it felt causing so much pain to another human being. I haven’t used it since, but I haven’t lost that ruthlessness when it comes to those I love.”

Eragon understood. “The twins.”

Helena nodded, and for a moment, hatred flashed in her eyes. “They _shattered_ Godric's wing sockets. Had it not been for him talking me down, and for their position in the Varden, I wouldn't hesitate to do the same."

Eragon gulped. He wanted to blame her for that, to tell her off, but if they had done similarly to Saphira? Eragon didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t like it, and he was glad for it, but he couldn’t blame her either.

The Second Wizarding War officially began after Voldemort was exposed at the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. For the first year of it, Helena wasn’t much involved. The first few months she had spent grieving Sirius, and after that, she had been back at Hogwarts. She began training, Remus and Professor McGonagall helped her with becoming an animagus, and Dumbledore took her under his wing, helping her understand Voldemort. It was also this year that she learned proper Occlumency (which she promised to try and teach some of to Eragon) from Dumbledore. Compared to many of her previous years, her sixth year of schooling was rather peaceful – relatively.

At least until the Death Eaters attacked the castle and killed Dumbledore.

Helena took the summer to prepare, but then she set out to hunt Voldemort’s horcruxes. Eragon gained more and more respect for this Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They weren’t just Helena’s friends, they were her family, and had stood by her even as someone as evil as Voldemort was after her. Ron’s slip up under the influence of a horcrux could be forgiven. Eragon would be deeply honored to meet them.

Eragon knew Helena, but he still had a hard time believing her when she told of how they had snuck into the Ministry of Magic, how they had escaped Godric’s Hollow _and_ the Malfoy Manor, and how they had broken into Gringotts Bank. Well, no, he didn’t have a hard time believing it, but the tale was just so fantastical; he had known she had been through a war, but that was the understatement of the century. She had all but lead a war.

Helena got quiet again as she told of the Battle of Hogwarts. Eragon couldn't even imagine; while children were drafted into the Empire's army, this was not quite like that. The Death Eaters had mostly consisted of middle-aged and elderly adults, who had fought against an army primarily made of teenagers.

The death toll had been staggering. Helena listed off a lot of names, all but wincing each time one left her lips.

And then she had given herself up.

“You _died_?” Eragon asked, aghast.

Helena didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. No. I think so? It complicates things that I had a piece of his soul latched onto mine. That’s the thing about magic: not everything can be explained. But I survived.”

Fighting had broken out again after Helena revealed herself to be alive. It didn’t last long, though, because soon enough Helena had stood face to face with Voldemort, who had no horcruxes left. Their duel had continued for almost half an hour until Helena had gathered her power and literally blown him apart with a Reducto Curse.

“Celebrations and grieving broke out at Hogwarts almost immediately after,” Helena recounted. “I was at the center of both, and I could do neither there. Everyone wanted me there with them, their leader, their symbol, their guiding light. I had to speak to the bereaved there and witness their sadness, but not show my own weakness.”

"It isn't a weakness to feel grief and loss,” Eragon countered.

Helena gave him a soft smile. “It is not, I know. But the people there needed something solid to gather about. And I became just that.” She paused. “I was saved some hours later by Hermione and Ron. They took me by my arms and we went back to Shell Cottage. Fleur and Bill were still at Hogwarts, so apart from Dobby, we were alone. And I fell apart there.” Helena took a deep settling breath. “Magical Britain didn’t go back to normal overnight. Some things did get better fast, though; the people who had been imperiused were freed, and the innocents who had been sent to Azkaban were released. Most of the Death Eaters had been at Hogwarts and were captured, but some escaped. They were captured within the next few weeks, though. The Dementors of Azkaban were also banished, and replaced by aurors, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was named interim Minister for Magic until one could be voted into office.”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t you who was named Minister for Magic,” Eragon joked.

Helena scoffed. “There were more than a few crazy people who called for just that. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who shot that idea down right away. I was busy; I had bought a house in Hogsmeade and helped with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. And I went to a lot of funerals. Too many to count.” Helena shook her head. “Dobby came and knocked on my door the moment he was well, and I hired him on the spot. Hermione and Ron went to Australia to find Hermione’s parents, which they succeeded in. Last I heard, they hadn’t quite forgiven Hermione, but they were working things out. It was decided that Teddy should live with Andromeda, as I simply wasn’t equipped to take care of a child yet. I often visited, though. I hope he is okay. Professor McGonagall offered me an opportunity to return for my Seventh Year at Hogwarts, and once I had graduated, to take a spot on the faculty. I turned her down, as I needed time to grieve and get closure on things – though McGonagall made sure to make me know that the offer still stands when I was ready. And…. Then I appeared in the Spine by October.”

Eragon sat for a while, not saying anything. Helena hadn’t been kidding when she had said it was a long story. They had sent for food twice, and it had to be well past midnight by now. Saphira had been present in the back of his mind throughout it all, and even she needed time to take it all in.

In the end, all Eragon could think to respond with was a hug. And so, he did. Helena returned the hug, leaning into him.

“I do have questions,” Eragon admitted after a few moments. “Though, I think I need to have a good think about it all. But… I am here for you. I hope you know that.”

Helena smiled softly. “I do. Thank you.”

Eragon left a few minutes later. The hallway had cleared outside, which was for the better. He didn’t need someone to ask him for anything right now. He just needed to think.

‘ _Little One,_ ’ Saphira spoke up in his mind.

‘ _Did you have any idea?_ ’ Eragon asked her. He didn’t think that Saphira had actually _known_ – while her relationship with Helena was more than cordial, they didn’t exactly talk much. But Saphira had always had a good feeling about people. Good instincts.

‘ _Not the extent.’_

‘ _She didn’t just fight in a war. She **stopped** a war.’_ Eragon stopped walking and leant up of one of the marble walls. Slowly he slid to the floor. And there he was sat, hands folded in his lap as he tried to think things over.

Helena wasn’t only amazing. She was human. And she had survived.

She made broken look beautiful, and strong look invincible. She walked with the world on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. I don’t know if it’s too condensed or not. It’s hard to write about all of Helena’s life and not get to an insane number of pages, and that would simply be too much dialogue. I tried to balance it with simply telling what Helena had said and have a few pieces of dialogue in important places. Please, do tell me what you think.  
> People are still grumbling a bit about the pairing. I’ve never made it a secret that the pairing will be Eragon and Helena. And some people says it has been rushed, despite the story now approaching 200k words. I get that Eragon isn’t as mature as Helena, but I’m hoping to show you that since Brom’s death a lot has happened with him. And the heart wants what it wants; while Eragon might be more immature than Helena, he also has a heart of gold, and that is what Helena is attracted to.  
> Lastly, I just want to make a small disclaimer: that last line Eragon says/thinks, I haven't come up with. It's by Ariana Dancu. I just thought it so fitting, I couldn't not have it in the story.  
> Synthesis


	21. Alien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The truth is, there was no easy answer to the equation with Tom and me, and with me being a botched horcrux of his.” Helena looked up at Eragon again. “Should Dumbledore had hidden me away? Even as Tom took over the Wizarding World? Should he had waited until the horcrux in me had been activated, and hope that a botched horcrux wouldn’t wreak havoc, even as Tom and I fought over the control of my soul?”  
> “I… don’t know,” Eragon admitted slightly weakly. Then he looked up at Helena heatedly. “But there must’ve been another way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed!

Things did change between Helena and Eragon. Of course they did, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Eragon had gotten a deeper understanding of why Helena was as she was, and while he would probably never fully understand her until he had been to Earth and experience it, his newfound understanding of her showed. It wasn’t obvious. It was just an undercurrent of… almost quiet contentment of finally having a few more pieces to the puzzle that was Helena. And Helena was so grateful for that.

Indeed, she had been vulnerable on that particular day, but she didn’t regret it. Even with her new contemplations about her male counterpart, exposing herself to him as she had, had not been easy. Really, anything involving the War – anything involving Fred – wasn’t easy, but Helena had had a sincere fear of how Eragon would react. In the end, Eragon had been nothing but candid with her, he had forgiven her for her and Godric’s actions after Dras-Leona (something she really didn’t know if she would’ve been able to), and he had made clear that he would stand by her. From a more objective standpoint, they were the last two Free Dragon Riders, and their fates were intertwined. They _would_ fight at each other’s side in the upcoming war against the Black King, and if they should have any chance, they needed to fight well. They needed to trust and understand each other.

So, Helena had told him.

Quite unlike himself, Eragon hadn’t just pelted her with questions after she had told him about her life. Here and there he had asked a single question or two, but no more than that at one time. And they hadn’t been random questions, but questions that he evidentially had thought long and hard about.

Eragon did not like Dumbledore. Or, maybe more correctly put, Eragon was not happy with Helena’s late mentor; her male counterpart simply could not wrap his head around how the Professor could’ve raised Helena as lamb for slaughter. It was curious that Eragon had used that particular phrase, as it was near identical to the phrase that Snape had used in the conversation with Dumbledore, where the latter had revealed Helena’s horcrux status. Of course, with Snape, it had been more in concern with how he had spent the last six years watching over her, whereas Eragon felt as he did because he cared for Helena.

Helena had been slow to answer Eragon’s question.

“Dumbledore…. He wasn’t infallible,” Helena had begun answering Eragon’s question. He was sat with almost a tight face, angry that she wasn’t angrier. “I told people that for years. I all but shoved it in their face after Snape had killed him, and they had all brushed my worries about Snape aside with ‘Dumbledore trusts Severus; don’t worry about it’.” Helena sighed and took a sip of her cuppa. “The truth is, there was no easy answer to the equation with Tom and me, and with me being a botched horcrux of his.” Helena looked up at Eragon again. “Should Dumbledore had hidden me away? Even as Tom took over the Wizarding World? Should he had waited until the horcrux in me had been activated, and hope that a botched horcrux wouldn’t wreak havoc, even as Tom and I fought over the control of my soul?”

“I… don’t know,” Eragon admitted slightly weakly. Then he looked up at Helena heatedly. “But there must’ve been another way.”

Helena answered calmly, “I am confident that Dumbledore explored any feasible avenue before ‘raising me as a lamb for slaughter’. I never asked him, but I knew him very well. He might’ve manipulated more than a few people, and, as with myself, he had a problem with pride. But he cared more than anyone else.” She paused to let that sink into Eragon’s mind. “As it was, he made sure that I led as good a life as I could. A life with friends and family and love. The Dursleys were an unfortunate factor, but the protection charm my mum gave her life for would only work if I lived with her blood. As for my eventual death… I believe Dumbledore had an inkling of a suspicion to the Bond of Blood, which Tom inadvertently created between us when he used my blood for his resurrection, would anchor my soul to the mortal plane. I can’t be sure, but it’s a nice thought to have.”

“So, you have no problems with Dumbledore?” Eragon almost demanded of her.

“No important problems, no,” Helena answered candidly. “My only complaint was that he was so secretive. Alright, maybe it was a fair call not to tell me of my destiny when I was a preteen, but once some of the more sinister events began happening, maybe he should’ve reevaluated. I’ve considered that maybe he didn’t know for sure that I was a horcrux until I had gotten that particular memory from Slughorn. Though, he had stated several times before that he believed that Tom had accidentally transferred some of his powers to me that night he killed my parents.” Helena paused. “I guess the key word there is ‘believed’.” She shook her head. “But Dumbledore is dead. So is Tom. And I’m alive, and the war is over. Anger is an acid that does far more damage to the vessel it is contained in than the object it is poured on. I believe Dumbledore deserves forgiveness. Even more so, I believe I deserve to forgive and move on and live my life. Because now I am able to do just that.”

Helena hadn’t been able to tell if Eragon had been satisfied with her answers. He hadn’t said much after the conversation and had left to go flying with Saphira.

Helena had smiled at that; she knew she had stated it before, but she truly could feel just how much he had grown. He was still Eragon, and could still do things a bit rushed at times – and he had that fantastical ability to put his foot in his mouth at inopportune times –, but he had also grown quieter. He thought and considered things more than he did before. He wasn’t so hesitant to go against her when he believed she wronged him. She needed to look no further than how he had defended himself after she admonished him for blessing an infant girl in the Ancient Language.

The days after the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts continued like that. Helena continued her routine with the medical clinic and meeting up with Angela and Nasuada, but Eragon would accompany her at times, ask his questions, and then leave to think them over. He would also join her for breakfast a few times, but he was beginning to develop a habit of sleeping in just the slightest, now that he had a chance. It was so… human of him that Helena couldn’t bare to point it out.

Five days after the anniversary, Helena had taken her lunch in her chambers to be able to look the urgal letter over. It had taken some time, but she had managed to drain the blood and dirt out of the parchment without disturbing the particles of ink. The letter read as such:

_By the word of King Galbatorix, Ushnark the Mighty._

_The gatekeeper at Ithro Zhada is to let this bearer and his minions pass. They are to be bunked with the others of their kind and by the soldiers of the Empire. The promise will be kept, as was agreed upon, but only if the two factions refrain from fighting. Command will be given under Tarok, under Gashz, under Durza, under Ushnark the Mighty. Disobeying the line of command will not be tolerated at the promise of beheading._

_The kull are great front fighters, and the urgal shamans have proven their mettle before. The Varden is not a mere village, though, and the smaller urgals are currently a drain on resource rather. Find what they are suitable for and deploy them – else, put them to the sword._

_The footmen and kull have proven their inability to keep peace and are to be kept separate. No weapons are to be distributed until the scouts return from the east and give the all-ready for marching._

While it definitely gave food for thought and had given the Varden some leads to follow, it wasn’t much. If the army at Ithro Zhada indeed intended to attack Farthen Dûr, and they had sent their scouts east, then the stronghold itself had to be west of the dwarven capital. While it narrowed the search down some, ‘west of the dwarven capital’ could still take weeks or months to explore.

Helena had also been curious about the runes themselves. She had asked Ajihad if he would be opposed to her keeping the letter and handing him a copy; thankfully, he hadn’t been. But the runes: they were the same that Helena wrote in her journals. It was the oldest known runes known to wizardkind. The elves knew some of the characters, as Helena had asked Ajihad where he had learned to read the script; they did not, however, know them all. She needed to ask the elves where they had seen the runes before, as it just might be a clue to how to get home.

Helena didn’t want to get too excited, but after only having the stars, the Latin alphabet, and Angela’s adopted grandfather as clues, the runes in the urgal letter seemed like a large neon-sign pointing an arrow towards Earth.

Helena was sat by her desk sipping on a cuppa while looking over the parchment for any other clue, when the sound of the portrait opening sounded behind her. She wasn’t concerned with it; three people had received the password (supercalifragilisticexpialidocious) were Eragon, Angela, and Carver, none of which would attack her. Tilting her head slightly, she caught sight of her page.

“Hello, Carver,” Helena greeted him with a friendly smile.

Carver had been in the room a few times before, but the awe was still all the same each time he entered. Eragon’s face had also been like that when he had joined her in her room on the anniversary, though his awe had been mixed with the shock that came with preconceived ‘facts’ getting torn down before one’s eyes. Carver was too young, and hadn’t lived in such an isolated place as Carvahall, to have too many of such ‘facts’.

“Hello,” Carver returned her greeting a few moments later as he shook his head to get out of his stupor. He then bit his lip and continued, “You have been summoned to the training fields.”

Immediately, Carver began shuffling on his feet and wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. He always relayed messages word for word, so if people had _summoned_ her, then he would tell her so. Even if it were a summon, everyone would avoid a lot of headaches if they simply ‘requested’ her presence instead. She had toned it down, knowing that Carver would have to return and tell whoever had summoned her what her response had been (Helena was positive that the boy had learnt more than a few colourful words), but she still bristled at being _summoned_.

However, that day was different; Helena had been expecting a summon. Or, rather, she had been expecting a summon to the training field not on any particular day, but one of these days. After all, she and Eragon were to be tested.

Ajihad had at first wanted the twins and some bloke named Frederick to test them. Helena didn’t have a problem with Frederick, but she outright refused to spend more time than highly necessary with the Ferret and his brother. Eragon had stood by her in that, thank Merlin. Helena knew very well that she wasn’t making Ajihad’s life any easier by refusing – and, as she had stated, she was beginning to easing up on the Varden with their summons and all – but there were some things that were just too much. She would never forgive them for hurting Godric as they had.

Angela couldn’t test them, as she had been vetoed by one of the members of the Council of Elders. In the end, Arya, the elven ambassador, had been approached by Ajihad and had been asked if she were willing to test their magic once she had recovered sufficiently. Her answer had been yes.

“Relax, Carver,” Helena told her page mirthfully. “Just this once, I’ve been expecting a summon.”

Carver visibly relaxed. “Thank Merlin.” Helena quirked an eyebrow at that. It seemed she was rubbing more off on him than she had thought.

Helena put down her cuppa and walked to the stand where the Sword of Gryffindor was displayed. Opening the drawer beneath it, she began donning the leather armour that had appeared with her in the spine.

She knew very well, that if it hadn’t been for magic, the leather armour would’ve been worth shite. There was a reason a leatherworker could use a simple knife to work his craft; alright, that might’ve been an oversimplification, but in a battle with real swords, a leather armour was worth very little more than civilian clothing. The armour with Gryffindor’s crest on it was like the Sword of Gryffindor, though; the sword, as well, wouldn’t function properly without the aid of magic, with silver being a soft metal.

Strapping the sword to her side, Helena took a look in the mirror before leaving. A smirk played on her lips; she did look quite fearsome, she would say.

“What is going to happen at the training fields?” Carver asked her. “Are you going to be duelling again? Are you going to use magic?”

Helena chuckled. “Yes, on both accounts. And, yes, you’re welcome to join us.”

Walking down to the training grounds, Helena got a few more glances than usual. People had quite grown used to see her in pants and blouses and didn’t look twice at her once she started wearing her outlandish clothes from home. But a set of armour, even one of leather? That was new.

Some of the looks were still suspicious and frightened.

Helena had long since proven that she didn’t seek to destroy or even harm the Varden. Her work in the medical clinic had earned her a lot of good will, as had her work with the orphans. Still, the ease at which she used magic frightened them. That she had transfigured one of the twins into a ferret was still shared wildly, and while many got a good laugh out of it, as they thought of it, they also got unnerved by it.

It had gotten Helena thinking. Back on Earth, she had at times wondered what life would’ve been like if the Statue of Secrecy hadn’t been established; she would’ve liked to think that the magical world would be able to live comfortably and peacefully side by side with the muggles. But after only seeing the reaction of the Varden to her magic, Helena wasn’t so sure of that any magical being would’ve survived the last four-hundred years if they hadn’t gone into hiding. Those in the Varden that feared her, feared her like the muggles of the seventeenth century must’ve feared her ancestors. And fear makes people do irrational things. If the Statute of Secrecy hadn’t been established, wizardkind would’ve eventually gone to war against the muggles that kept targeting them; despite magic being on their side, the muggles outnumbered magicals almost four-thousand to one.

It wasn’t pleasant thoughts. But maybe things would be different in Alagaësia, least of all because of how magic worked differently here.

Helena chased such thoughts away as she approached the training fields. It was not difficult to locate where the others were, Saphira’s bulking form towering over everything. Eragon stood beside his partner and was chatting with a dwarf, who Helena a moment later identified as Orik. Helena had chatted briefly with him and found him pleasant enough.

“Wotcher,” Helena greeted them with a smile and a small wave.

“Helena,” Eragon returned the greeting with a large smile as Saphira blinked at her. Orik, however, was shooting her a confused look.

“Wothc- What?” the dwarf asked her puzzled.

“It’s a greeting,” Eragon explained, a mirthful smile playing on his lips. “Just go with it.”

Orik sighed and then grumbled, “Just as I thought I was beginning to get the hang of ye humans, ye go and invent whole new greetings.”

Helena patted Orik on the shoulder as she let out a laugh. “Don’t worry about it, friend. Back home, many outside of the British Isles are also confused by our terms and terminology.”

Orik huffed. “That’s something at least.” He sent her a look, “Though, lass, ye don’t seem to make any effort not to appear queer.”

Helena snorted at that. “I wouldn’t be successful in appearing ordinary. What would happen is that I would appear even queerer, but also not be comfortable in my skin.”

“Your queerness do have an endearing side to it, though,” Eragon commented with a chuckle.

“It does now, does it?” Helena asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Eragon blushed and grinned bashfully. He was about to respond when he all but froze, and his eyes focused on something over Helena’s shoulder. And he wasn’t the only one; all the clatter, bantering, and clashing of steel on the field halted. It caused the hair on the back on her neck to stand, as her heart started to pound and her magic spread throughout her body.

Danger.

Putting the hand on the hilt of her sword, Helena spun around. Right away, her eyes zeroed in on the cause for (the lack of) commotion. The pointed ears proved that it could only be Arya.

The elf moved with strength and grace across the field towards the Dragon Riders, and at a speed at which a normal human would’ve at least worked their pulse up a fair bit. Arya seemed unaffected, though, as she stopped in front of them. And for a long while, the elf looked at no-one but Eragon.

It became quite clear to Helena that Arya looked a lot like herself, only it seemed that the small imperfections had been eased away. They both had raven-black hair, though whereas Helena’s was a wild lion-mane if it wasn’t tied up, Arya’s seemed to be as straight and controlled as could be. They both had green eyes, but whereas Helena’s were just a bit too sharp to be considered beautiful, Arya’s were a soft emerald. They were both tall, but whereas Helena had been told many times that it was almost unnatural that she, as a woman, was so tall, the height seemed to fit Arya perfectly well.

Helena liked her body as it was, but when she stood across the woman that Eragon had spent so much time obsessing over… It did intimidate Helena some.

Helena snorted mentally; she had no claim on Eragon, and if he wanted to be with Arya, he could be. Even as she thought that, a hollow feeling in her stomach made a brief appearance. Helena shoved those feelings aside.

Finally, Arya’s and Eragon’s contact was broken, and Arya’s eyes moved over the rest of them. She muttered a brief greeting to Orik, before looking Helena over.

“You must be Lady Potter that I’ve heard so much about,” Arya said in the way of greeting. It happened only a fraction of a moment, but as Arya’s eyes had met Helena’s, her face had soured. The next moment, though, her face had gone back to being stoic. Helena had to bite the inside of her cheek not to bring it up. The worst thing was, that the elf’s reaction to Godric was almost the opposite: as Arya’s eyes met the ruby dragon’s, a large smile appeared on her lips,  and she greeted, “And you must be Godric.” She had then bowed. “I cannot express how pleased I am to meet you.”

Aware of Helena’s feelings, Godric simply breathed out a bit sharply in greeting. Even that seemed to excite the elf.

Arya took a step back so that she could look at both Helena and Eragon at the same time. “I will be testing your worth in magic and battle, as by Ajihad’s request.”

“In battle as well?” Helena asked, even as Eragon startled. Helena recognised that look; worry. Not for himself, but for Arya. Helena couldn’t help but feel a bit of the same. “I thought this Fredrick-fellow would be testing our swordsmanship?”

“Indeed, that was the plan, but my one condition to test your magic was also to test your swordsmanship.”

Eragon frowned. “Are you sure you are up to it? No-one would blame you if-.”

“I am perfectly capable of testing two new Riders,” Arya told Eragon icily. Eragon gulped. Arya’s face then softened minutely. “I appreciate your concern. We elves heal faster than humans. I am well enough to test you, rest assured of that.”

Eragon looked her straight into the eyes for a few moments before sighing. “If you are sure.”

“I am,” Arya nodded sharply. “I will test your skills in magic first. It will require most of your energy, and if it is done after your blade-arm has been tested, it is far more likely that your fatigue will mess with your abilities.” Fair enough, that made sense for Eragon. Arya faced Eragon, “You will go first.” Then she faced Helena, “You will wait here.”

“What, why?” Helena asked.

Arya was clearly annoyed by that. “Because as much as I’m testing your ability to call forth magic, it is as much a test of being able to recall words of the Ancient Language to be used in a particular situation at a moment’s notice, and a test for being able to correctly assemble a sentence in the Ancient Language.”

Helena didn’t like the tone Arya was speaking to her in. It was clear that the elf had some problem or other with her. Now wasn’t the time or place, however.

“Fine,” Helena almost grit out of the teeth. Eragon was looking nervously between the two of them. Helena ignored him, and before Arya could tell her otherwise, Helena had mounted Godric who immediately took off.

It was almost three minutes before Godric spoke.

‘ _You do not like Arya.’_

Helena grunted. ‘ _Something about her rubs me the wrong way. Or maybe I rub her the wrong way, and **that** rubs me the wrong way.’_ She paused. ‘ _I cannot think of anything I should’ve done against her, and yet she looks at me the way she does.’_

Godric considered that. ‘ _Brom did warn us that elves are strange to humans. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding.’_

Helena wanted to deny it, but she knew her partner spoke the truth. She settled with a, ‘ _Perhaps.’_ She paused. ‘ _I don’t like my reaction to how much attention Eragon is giving her.’_

Godric grunted. ‘ _It is not much unlike how he acted around you at first.’_

Helena frowned at that.

‘ _I still don’t think he is good enough for you,’_ Godric continued after a moment. ‘ _He has changed since the Old One died, but he is too young. Too idealistic.’_

‘ _Godric…’_ Helena sighed. ‘ _Fine, yes, I know he is young. But even before Brom’s death, he was growing up right in front of our eyes. And if it were just that, then, fine, no, I would never consider there maybe being more between us. But he has a heart of gold; he wants to do what is right. He is braver than most.’_

Godric grumbled at that. ‘ _We’ll see.’_

Helena sighed again at that response. ‘ _Alright, change of subject, then. What do you think of Arya?’_

Godric hesitated. ‘ _There is something in my instincts that tell me that she can be trusted,’_ he admitted carefully. ‘ _I do think that has less to do with her as a person and more to do with her being an elf.’_

‘ _It does make sense,’_ Helena mused. ‘ _The dragons and elves were bonded through magic for a long time before humans joined the pact. You **would** gravitate towards each other. You saw how Arya reacted to you?’_

‘ _I did,’_ Godric confirmed unnecessarily. Then he sighed. ‘ _While my instincts tell that I can trust her, I know that your instincts and feelings aren’t to be ignored either. Especially not if the way she treated you weren’t a misunderstanding; she could be elf, dwarf, human, or urgal – I will not stand by anyone treating you like that.’_

‘ _I love you, too. Thank you,’_ Helena chuckled. ‘ _But at this point… I think your instincts are more trustworthy. When it comes to Eragon, things get complicated. Just… Keep me in check, will you?’_

‘ _Whatever you wish, Dear One.’_

The two of them cruised through the air inside Farthen Dûr for fifteen additional minutes before Eragon called them down by way of mind. Arya and Eragon had moved some way away from the training fields, most likely due to the unease most of the Varden had with magic. Landing near them, Arya didn’t wait and waved Helena over to her.

Helena wanted to show off. Of course, she wanted to. But… Keeping in mind that what she had perceived as Arya’s attitude might just be a misunderstanding, she reigned in some of her temper. She kept in mind what Arya had said the test was about and stuck to Alagaësian and verbal magic.

The test included the manoeuvring of a stone in the air, manipulating water, creating fire, scrying, hardening leather, freezing items, controlling the flight of an arrow, and healing wounds (thank Merlin, the last one Arya settled with just hear the wording of the spell Helena would cast). As it had always been, Helena had an easier time with spells she could replicate in the Gaian branch of magic; it wasn’t because her powers were diminished in areas where she couldn’t replicate it, but rather because she had a harder time imagining it. She had gotten competent at scrying after having scried Eragon several times during their separation, but it was still much tougher than the act of, for example, manipulating fire.

Still, saying that she had a more difficult time with those few areas, didn’t mean she actually had a difficult time. She completed all of Arya’s task, and the elf did indeed look very pleased.

“I must admit; I’m impressed,” Arya told them, and a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. “Either of you are far from being a master, but taking into account that you’ve only been Riders for a few months, you are far more advanced than I would’ve thought.” Arya looked a Helena specifically, “But, then again, it’s no secret that you have experience in magic prior to becoming a Rider. You claim to be of another world?”

Helena blinked; Arya didn’t beat around the bush. “I do. I am from a world called Earth. And as far as magic goes, I’m a witch – and, no, it’s not the same as it is here. Neither is magic.”

Arya frowned. “Would you elaborate?”

“Here magic is bound by the Ancient Language. There is no such language on Earth,” Helena began to explain. “Magic flows freely throughout the world, especially in large… I guess ‘rivers’ would be an adequate parallel, called ley lines. While Latin is the go-to language when creating spells, one could replicate a spell in another language. Magic is thus not bound as bound on Earth as it is on Alagaësie. Here incantation is the most important aspect of a spell. On Earth it is intent.” Helena paused. “As far as witches and wizards go, magic is hereditary; while it can disappear for generations in a family, one cannot suddenly gain magical abilities without having inherited them. This is because of how we store energy; in a magical core. Where you and Eragon need to draw energy directly from your bodies, I can draw it from a vast container of energy I have inside of me. The spells drain energy all the same; I just have a much larger reservoir than you.”

Arya looked thoughtful, and maybe just slightly disturbed. “I will not lie… some of the things you are saying are hard to take in.” Arya took a deep breath, “First, though, how did you arrive here?”

And so Helena explained her appearance in the Spine for the umpteenth time. She included the clues she had found of some sort of connection between Alagaësia and Earth – Angela’s Pops, the Latin alphabet, the runes that Galbatorix was using. Through it all, Arya listened attentively, quirking an eyebrow here and there, but letting Helena talk.

“Do the elves have any experience in world travels?” Eragon inquired once Helena’s tale had finished.

Arya chewed lightly on her lower lips. “I’m no scholar, but I do believe I’ve read a theory or two about the subject.” She looked up at the two Riders. “It is not something the elves at large is interested in, however. There might be a person or a small group that has studied it who might be able to help. In either case, now that you, Lady Potter, has brought definite proof of not only another world, but that travel between them is possible, then it is sure to become a subject of interest now.”

Helena nodded. “Thank you. Would you also be willing to take a look at the runes at the urgal letter later?”

“Of course,” Arya answered right away. And the tone of voice, that it was a matter of course, did put some of Helena’s worries about the elf to rest. “Thought, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to test your native magic.”

“Fair enough, though I should warn you, my magic has… shifted some since bonding with Godric.”

Arya frowned. “How so?”

“Yes, how so…,” Helena mused, trying to find a way to explain it. “It is like I am now able to use magic on a much more base level. Non-verbal magic is rather common back home, though one still needs to _think_ the incantation. There have been cases after bonding with Godric, however, where I have used magic on pure instinct; I have _wanted_ something to happen, without incantation, whatsoever. It takes a lot of concentration.” Helena paused, “There was also when we were attacked by the Varden in the tunnels. My magic reacted before I could truly want something. It was like I was being extended outwards from myself, and used the world around me as a weapon.”

Arya looked both deeply fascinated and disturbed.

“I.. have heard of similar acts of magic,” the elf admitted. “It is not without danger. I would advice you to shy away from this non-incantation magic until you’ve met your teacher in Ellesméra.”

“Alright,” Helena nodded after thinking it over a second.

Arya nodded gratefully. “For now, I’d like you to use your native magic verbally. Let’s go through the same trials as before.”

And so they did. While some things became much easier for Helena, other things were outright impossible without conjuration.

“Wait, you mean to tell me that you can create something out of nothing?” Arya asked surprised.

Helena shook her head, “No, I can create something out of energy.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “Fascinating.”

Helena displayed the conjuration of fire, frost, and water. While Arya was surprised that she indeed could create ‘something out of nothing’, the elements was something the elf was familiar with. She became truly surprised when Helena conjured a plush, red chair. Carefully, the elf had sat down, testing the properties.

“And you can conjure anything you can imagine?” Arya asked.

“More or less,” Helena confirmed. “Though, conjured items are not the real thing and will disappear when the magic that summoned them into being runs out. Thus, conjured water is able to extinguish fire, but it cannot soothe your thirst for long, as it will disappear. You might in fact run into bigger problems if you do drink conjured water.”

“Oh,” it came from Arya almost disappointedly. A smile played on Helena’s lips at that.

“If you want to make something lasting, you are better off with transfiguration,” Helena explained. She summoned a stone from the ground, and with a twirl of her hand, transfigured it into a flute. Arya took it from Helena’s hand and examined it. “While there are a few forms of transfiguration one can use incantations for, transfiguration is one of the few areas of magic where intent and imagination weighs most heavily.”

“This could turn the war around,” Orik muttered. Helena glanced at him, and saw the ideas that were already forming in his mind.

“Transfiguration has its limits,” Helena warned him. “I’m not able to transfigure into noble metals or gems, and any non-living to living transfigurations are only temporary.”

“Wait, are you claiming to be able to make something alive?” Arya asked.

Helena shook her head. “I’m able to make something appear alive.” Helena looked around and spotted a loaf-sized rock not too far from them. Summoning it through the air as well, Helena only took a bit longer with this transfiguration. A moment later, in place of a rock in her hands, were a fluffy white rabbit.

This time, even Eragon was at a loss. Orik was at his wits ends, and Arya looked shocked. She made a motion, and Helena handed the rabbit to the elf.

“It… truly does appear to be alive,” Arya stated, even as it was clear she couldn’t quite believe it. She looked intently at the rabbit, and then looked quickly up at Helena. “It doesn’t have a mind.”

“As I said, it isn’t alive,” Helena explained with a small smile. “If you were to wring its neck, it would become a stone again.”

“Amazing,” Arya breathed as she looked the rabbit over again. She then handed it to Orik, who happily accepted it, looking it over as Arya had. The elf turned back to Helena. “Well… is there anything else that you believe I should see?”

Helena quickly displayed her animagus abilities and apparition. While Arya was impressed, it didn’t quite beat the rabbit trick. Helena received a bit more of a reaction when she displayed some duelling spell, especially the more destructive ones such as reducto and confringo. The last thing Helena displayed was her abilities with wards, both true and personal.

“A worry of mine has been how to use magic while in battle here in Alagaësia,” Helena told Arya. “Brom has explained how wizarding duels are here. As you have probably surmised by now, dueling on Earth is quite different. However, I might already have a solution; now that I can use magic purely by intent, I might be able to circumvent the problem by creating a bubble where foreign magic simply isn’t allowed.”

“That would be… quite an impressive feat,” Arya admitted. “It would still be a tax on your energy reserves, though with how vast yours are and your connection to Godric, that might not be a problem unless you go up against several powerful opponents.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Helena nodded with a grin. “Though, I give you my word; I will wait until I have talked it over with this mysterious teacher of ours in Ellesméra.”

“It will lessen my worries,” Arya inclined her head.

Helena smiled. “You must understand, this is the foundation of our – wizardkind – way of life. I might oversee something simply because I perceive it as ordinary. If I at a later date display some ability or not that I haven’t shown here, then it is not because I do not wish to share it with you now.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Arya promised. “If there is not anything else you can think of at the moment, I see no reason to delay the testing of your swordsmanship any further.”

Arya didn’t wait for either Helena and Eragon to respond, instead turning around and walking back towards the training fields. Helena shot her male counterpart a questioning look, to which he just shrugged.

Orik chuckled, “I warned you that elves are alien to us.”

“You did,” was Eragon’s simple answer as he looked after Arya with a frown.

It was, of course, too early to judge, and Arya had been perfectly pleasant as Helena had displayed her magic, but if she was a perfect example for her race… then the elves truly were alien. It was a bit disconcerting, as Helena had, since she had learned about the elves, believed them to be the closest thing to wizardkind. Perhaps not, though.

Helena sighed. Following after Arya, Helena waved her hand behind her, turning the rabbit back into a rock. A yelp sounded, and Helena glanced to see Orik now looking perplexed at the rock in his hand. A smile appeared on her lips as Eragon chuckled under his breath and shot her a mirthful look. Orik dropped the rock and followed after them.

Moving back to the field, it fell silent even before they had reached it. If Helena wasn’t mistaken, even more people had arrived. Then again, if word had reached that she and Eragon would be tested, then that wasn’t such a surprise.

Once again, Eragon is chosen to be tested again. Helena conjured three chairs for her, Carver, and Orik to sit as the elf and Eragon walked to the middle of the field. The few who had been left training quickly scattered to the sides.

Drawing and dulling the edges of their swords, Eragon and Arya stood still for almost a full two minutes. Helena quirked an eyebrow; Arya was also testing their patience. Then Helena blinked and Arya had charged the half dozen feet towards Eragon, Helena’s male counterpart just barely managed to block the strike. The clang of metal almost seemed to echo throughout the hollow mountain.

As the duel continued, Helena’s eyebrows slowly but surely rose up under her hairline. Arya was… good. Amazing. Clearly much better than Eragon, which was saying something. Eragon was inherently good at duelling, and had even beaten Brom more than a handful of times. Still, Eragon didn’t stand a chance against Arya, that much was clear. And if Eragon wasn’t able to beat Arya, then there was no way Helena was going to.

Eragon had always been the better swordsman of the two of them. That was just the way it was. It had nothing to do with gender or upper body strength, as there were many styles of duelling that circumvented those problems; Helena simply didn’t have the mind of a swordsman.

Arya and Eragon duelled for nigh ten minutes. That was an abnormally long duel in anything other than a formal setting – and even in such cases, it was pressing it. In any true battle, too much would be going on, too much danger being all around, for two people to be able to battle uninterrupted for so long. Alright, there might be rare instances, but they were rare; soldiers were trained to come to the aid of their comrades when they were spotted being locked in combat. Now, Helena wasn’t an expert, but Brom was, and he hadn’t been shy with teaching Helena and Eragon about the tides of war.

The duel finally ended with Arya sidestepping Eragon’s strike and swinging her sword up against his jaw. Eragon froze as she pressed the steel of her sword against his jugular. His Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.

That was when the crowd erupted into cheers. Arya lowered her sword and said something to Eragon that Helena couldn’t hear over the crowd. It made Eragon smile.

“Amazing!” Orik exclaimed, standing in front of the chair Helena had conjured for him. “That was outstanding swordsmanship!”

“Indeed,” Helena agreed. As Arya’s eyes then caught hers, Helena gulped. It was her turn. Walking past Eragon as he went to take her seat, he shot her an encouraging though exhausted smile.

Helena drew her sword, it was as if only then that Arya caught eye of what she was wearing. The elf’s eye went up and down Helena, taking in the leather armour and silver sword, and specifically rested several moments on the crest of Gryffindor. She didn’t say anything, though, settling for drawing her own sword.

As with Eragon, Arya didn’t charge. She waited. And waited. This time, though, Helena charged.

Arya blocked the strike with ease.

Helena didn’t stand a chance. Helena knew that. Arya knew that. Everyone knew that. But Helena would be damned if she wouldn’t do her best. A prodigy in swordsmanship she might not be like Eragon was, but Brom hadn’t coddled her, and she was more than able to hold her own.

She tried to get into the rhythm of the duel, of the lunges, dodges, blocks, and attacks. But as much as she tried, she wasn’t able to; every time she was almost there, Arya would attack in a manner where Helena’s instincts screamed at her to use a protego. Each time that happened, Helena had to will herself not to call forth her magic, taking her focus away from the duel.

Apparently, Arya saw this, because after only four minutes, Arya stepped back with a frown.

“You’re distracted,” the elf told Helena. Motioning to Helena’s left hand, Arya asked, “Why are you clenching your hand? Have you lose a weapon you normally wield alongside your sword?”

“I’m trying not to use magic,” Helena admitted. Arya tilted her head, and Helena explained, “It sits so ingrained in me to shield myself with magic when I see something coming towards me. Brom told me not to use magic when I’m duelling, however, as duels are for training my swordsmanship, not my magic.”

Arya nodded slowly. “Brom was right to do that. But you _have_ learned swordsmanship by now.” The elf motioned to Helena’s hand again, “Right now, I want to test your combat ability. While I will not tolerate that you use magic on me, that you use a shield of magic instead of metal I see no problem with. Furthermore, I can see how ingrained it is in you, because you’re not focused on the duel. So, please, use your magic.”

Helena smiled, relieved. Perhaps she now at least stood a chance. Not to beat Arya – Helena wasn’t kidding herself – but at least to show her skills.

“Thank you.”

The two got into their stances again, and this time, it was Arya who charged first. Right as Arya’s blade was about to make contact, a translucent ruby barrier sprung into existence, blocking the attack. Arya’s eyes widened and she jumped back. Helena kept the shield up a few moments longer than necessary, a smirk playing on her lips. As soon as it was down, though, Helena charged again.

This time, Helena easily slipped into the rhythm of the duel. While Arya most obviously had the upper hand, Helena’s protego charm kept the elf on her toes. The elf did get a few good hits in, though not in any location that would be fatal under normal circumstances.

With that said, even with her shielding charm on her side, Helena wasn’t at Eragon’s level when it came to swordsmanship. She wasn’t too far behind him, but even without magic on his side, Eragon was a true prodigy. That said a lot about him.

Helena lost all sense of time, though she became aware that a great amount must’ve passed when her arms started to tire and her muscles began to scream. She pushed the pain away, though (after having been under the Cruciatus, that wasn’t hard); Helena took hit after hit, and attempted to exploit every opening she saw (being very much aware that Arya was creating them on purpose).

Sidestep, stab, dodge, protego, slash, jump back, slash.

Finally, after an eternity did Arya step back far enough for Helena to know the duel had ended. The elf lowered her sword, and with a pleased smile, told Helena, “You pass.”

The crowd broke out in applause once again. Helena looked around in a slight stupor and caught Eragon’s eyes. His jaw was slightly ajar and he had a look of something akin to awe in his eyes. Helena blinked when Nasuada walked over to her.

“You’ve been holding back,” Nasuada mock-accused with a large smile.

“Nasuada,” Helena greeted with surprise. “When did you arrive?”

“Not too long ago, though I caught the end of your duel,” the daughter with Ajihad answered. Then the dark woman quirked an eyebrow. “Next time we duel, don’t you dare to hold back.”

Helena chuckled. “I assure you, I haven’t held back on purpose. I’ve simply kept magic and duelling separated. It was Brom who beat it into me. Arya here pointed out, that by now, using a magic shield is acceptable.”

“Very well.” Nasuada patted Helena on the shoulder, “Magic or no, that was still impressive. But I really must be going; father has summoned me, but I couldn’t help my curiosity when I saw the crowd gathered here.”

“Of course. Give Ajihad my best.”

Waving farewell to Nasuada, Helena turned back towards the chairs she had conjured. Carver, Orik, and the dragons were there, but Eragon and Arya were nowhere to be seen.

“Ye don’t stop impressing, do ye, lass?” Orik chuckled as she approached them. “I have seen a fair bit of magic in me time in the Varden, but nothing like that.”

“That was amazing,” Carver agreed with the dwarf. Then he pouted, “I’m nothing like that.”

Helena chuckled and ruffled Carver’s hair. “You’ve only had four lessons, and I’m no duelling teacher. You’ll get there.”

“You’re teaching the lad to fight with a sword?” Orik asked. Helena almost winced at the wording; while Helena knew that duelling wasn’t merely a recreational pastime in Alagaësia, but the thought of Carver fighting for his life in a battle was downright nauseating.

“I am,” Helena answered with a forced smile on her lips.

Orik raised one of his bushy eyebrows and looked at her page. “Well, perhaps I can make time and show ye a few dwarven tricks sometime.”

Carver’s eyes widened, and that large smile of his appeared. “Oh, please! Thank you sir dwarf!”

Despite the subject, seeing Carver excited always warmed Helena’s heart. She turned to Orik.

“Where are Eragon and Arya?” Helena asked of the dwarf.

Orik shrugged. “They went o’er the hill there,” he answered and pointed. “Looked to me like they had a few things to talk about.”

Helena’s face fell slightly, but she shook it off. Then she raised an eyebrow at Saphira, “You didn’t go with?”

‘ _Godric and I are going back to the Dragonhold,’_ the blue dragon answered, glancing at Godric. ‘ _He just wanted to wait for you first.’_

Helena looked back and forward between the dragons. Her eyebrows then rose high, and her mouth formed an ‘o’.

‘ _Helena, no,’_ Godric told her sternly.

Helena grinned wildly. “What? Don’t worry about me. Go, have _fun_.”

Godric groaned and shook his head. He glanced at her again. ‘ _You did good, Dear One.’_

Helena’s face turned soft and she walked the last few steps over to him and kissed him on the snout. “Thank you, My Heart.” And then privately she told him, ‘ _Now, go get her.’_

A rumbling sound came from Godric’s chest and he bumped his head lightly against her shoulder before moving away from her. Together Saphira and Godric took off and flew towards the top of Tronjheim.

“Helena, do you need me anymore today?” Carver then asked her. She quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. “Some of the other kids wanted to eat with me. And then we were going to go play.”

“Of course, go,” Helena told him with a smile. “Just don’t do anything you’re not allowed to.”

Carver nodded wildly before running away.

“Well, Orik, it seems like it’s only you and me now,” she told the dwarf. “Would you be willing to join me for an early dinner?”

The dwarf blinked. “Of coursed. I’d be much obliged.”

They returned to Tronjheim together and one of the smaller dining halls, chatting about the various events that had happened since she and Eragon had arrived. Orik especially spent much time talking about Elva, which was the name of the child Eragon and Saphira had blessed. Apparently Elva and her caretaker had been moved to some of the finer chambers of the dwarven capital, and were treated something alike prophets. That troubled Helena, and she made a note to see the child in the next couple of days.

Orik looked up at Helena after having finished his meal. “I don’t mean to insult you, Lady Potter, but why did ye invite me here?”

“Relax, Orik. And it’s just Helena to you,” Helena soothed his worries. She gave a small shrug, “Eragon has just told me about you, telling good things. I’ve wanted to speak more to you ever since. This seemed like as good a moment as any.”

“Aye ‘twas,” Orik agreed, some tension leaving him. He smiled, “Ye probably already ken this, but ye made an impression on me people. Ye haven’t moved any impressive borders, and there is still some who would rather see the Riders stay dead, but the large neutral factions look to you with some goodwill.”

“Truly?” Helena asked surprised.

“Aye,” Orik nodded. “Hrothgar took a risk inviting ye into the mountain, but ye’ve proven yer worth. Ye shake things up, but ‘twas most likely a shakeup we needed.”

“I must admit, your people have also grown on me,” Helena admitted with a wry smile. “You say what you think and think what you say.”

Orik nodded gravely. “’twill be good to have a friend as ye in the coming days.” Then he looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “Hrothgar is also very pleased with the title you addressed him with. _King Under the Mountain._ ‘Thas becoming rather common way to address him.”

Helena gave a bark of a laugh. “Well, I’m glad. It just seemed fitting.”

The two of them decided to end the dinner as what seemed like the bulk of the Varden began to arrive in the dining hall. As they rose, Helena got an idea, and asked Orik for directions to Murtagh’s cell. The dwarf was surprised but not opposed to her helping her, and readily pointed the way.

“Argetlam,” one of the guards jumped at attention and greeted her as she turned the corner.

“At ease, soldier,” Helena smiled. ”Has there been any trouble?”

“No, Argetlam,” the other soldier answered. “The prisoner has been very agreeable. Lady Nasuada has been by twice as well, and nothing happened.”

“Nasuada?” Helena asked surprised.

“Yes, Argetlam.”

“Hmm,” Helena mused. “I take it, then, that it won’t be a problem if I want to see the prisoner?”

“Of course, Argetlam,” the first soldier nodded, bringing out a set of keys. “Just knock when you want to get out.”

Murtagh’s cell was behind a set of thick cedar doors. Entering the, the doors closing and locking behind her, Helena gained a new level of respect for Ajihad. Helena had known that the leader of the Varden would treat Murtagh well, but this was a good way past ‘well’.

The cell was only a cell in the most base sense of the word; it was a confining room one couldn’t leave. The room, though, was more alike to a noble’s chambers, with a thick carpet, a solid bed, and a desk with writing utensils, blank documents, and several tomes and scrolls to read.

Helena almost smirked. Ajihad was shrewd; he knew Murtagh was important to Eragon, so he treated Murtagh well, but Murtagh was also the son of Morzan, and as such there were some in the Varden who would rather see him humiliated or dead. Once again, Ajihad had found a compromise to satisfy all parties involved.

The person in question was currently sat in the bed. Murtagh wasn’t quite clothed as well as the room, but it was far from rags he was donned. He looked up at her confused.

By way of introducing herself, she flashed her gedwëy insignia. “I don’t know if you remember me from the other day, but I’m-“

“Helena,” Murtagh finished. He sat up straighter and put the scroll on his lap. “And you, of course, know who I am.”

Helena chuckled and sat down by the writing desk. “Indeed.”

She didn’t talk after that for almost a full minute, instead staring at him. With the way an annoyed scowl made itself known on his face, it was clear he still had a fight in him. Eragon had told good things about him, but also told that he had a certain disregard for others.

“If the Varden has put you up to something, you can just as well forget it,” Murtagh finally spat at her. “And if you’re just curious about seeing the traitor’s son up close, you are more than welcome to shove that ass of yours out of the door again.”

Helena blinked then broke out in laughter. That clearly hadn’t been the reaction Murtagh had been aiming for, because he startled.

“You truly are a world’s difference from Eragon,” Helena told Murtagh once she got herself under control. “Peace, I don’t want to trouble you. I don’t care about who your parents are. Your actions are what is important, and Eragon trusts you, so I’m more than willing to give you a chance.”

Murtagh looked perplexed at her. “What do you want then?”

“Want?” Helena asked. Murtagh nodded sharply. Helena’s face softened. “I can understand why you would think like that, having grown up in the capital under the watchful eye of the Oathbreaker.” Helena paused, very aware of Murtagh’s intense stare resting on her. “I can’t say I’ve been in the same situation, but I, too, have experienced a climate of mistrust. That’s why I also denied the Twins access to my mind.” She tilted her head slightly. “The only difference between us is that I had powers to fight back, whereas you had none but your sword arm and shrewd mind.”

Murtagh frowned and looked away. “I didn’t even want to go to the Varden.”

“I know,” Helena told him gravely. “I wish to help you. Eragon believes you to be a good person. Personally, I’m inclined to believe that; despite being more trusting than a puppy at times, he does have a good sense of a person.” Murtagh chuckled at that, and Helena shot him a wry smile. “He also spent over a month with you, and he has told that he has seen some of the ugly sides of you as well. And, no, that doesn’t make you less good, just more human.” Helena paused. “On a more tactical note; according to Eragon, you are one hell of a swordsman. You can help. And even if you are not interested in helping, then it’s just a waste of resources to have you imprisoned here; there are many others who could eat the food you are getting, and the soldiers posted outside of your door can be of far more use elsewhere.”

The dark-haired boy nodded slowly. “Alright. Say I believe you; what do you plan on? I doubt the Varden would appreciate you breaking me out of here.”

Helena snorted at that. Instead of answering his question right away, though, she asked Murtagh, “How much has Eragon told you about me?”

Murtagh shrugged. “Some. Not a lot. He was angry for a long time, then something happened, and he seemed to calm down. He began to talk about your travels from Teirm. He mentioned you weren’t from Alagaësia.”

“Well, he is correct, I’m not from here. I’m from a world called Earth,” Helena explained.

“A _world_?”

Helena shook her head. “That’s a tale for another time. Sufficient to say, is that we have another kind of magic on Earth. We have mind reading as well – we call it legilimency – though it is an extremely crude instrument in comparison to what exists here in Alagaësia. We rarely use it, instead relying on truth serums.”

A light appeared in Murtagh’s eyes. He understood. “You wish to give me such a truth serum?”

“I do,” Helena confirmed. “I have a small vial of the most powerful truth serum my kind has invented: veritaserum. Mind you, just like with mind reading, it isn’t perfect. It forces the one who ingests it to be sincere – but sincerity and truth are not the same things.”

“So, it will force me to answer what I believe to be the truth?” Murtagh asked with a frown.

“It will,” Helena nodded. “What I’m suggesting, is that we agree on a series of question that you’re comfortable asking. You would then ingest the veritaserum in front of those who need to hear the questions, and either Eragon or I will ask the questions, and you will answer. No matter what, I will be there, and I will make sure nobody asks any questions that haven’t been agreed upon.”

Murtagh didn’t answer right away. He looked deeply thoughtful. Then he looked up at Helena, “Would you give me some time to consider it?”

“Of course,” Helena inclined her head. “Keep in mind, though, that Eragon and I will need to go the elves eventually, and I don’t know how long we will be gone. And I will not leave any kind of truth serum in the hands of the Varden, not with people like the twins around.”

“Understandable,” Murtagh chuckled. He nodded slowly to himself and looked up at Helena. “Thank you.”

Helena nodded and stood up. Walking over to the door, she rapped on it thrice. Then she turned to Murtagh, “Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind, don’t tell Eragon about my offer.” That caused the dark-haired boy to quirk an eyebrow, and Helena rolled her eyes. “I just don’t fancy Eragon pestering the both of us until you agree to it. It would be too bothersome.”

For the first time since Helena had arrived, Murtagh let out a bark of laughter. “He would do that. Of course, I won’t mention your offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not exactly sure if I’m too happy about the way I wrote Arya. Overall I liked the chapter, but Arya is hard to write. I think I need some practice writing elves, because I truly do try to make them seem alien, and not just humans with pointy ears.  
> I have gotten more than a few reviews asking why not more has changed. I have explained some in earlier chapters, but I’ll try to do that in more depth now: this story will last over all four books, and has been planned as such. Things will change a lot while still ending with a battle against Galbatorix, but here in Book One, it’s mostly hints and setups that appear. In Book Two we will begin to get answers, where in Book Three we will especially begin to see the changes making waves.  
> A few more days might pass before the next chapter comes up. I am visiting family, and think it’s fair enough I take a few days off from writing. I hope you will be understanding.  
> Next up: The Ball!  
> Synthesis


End file.
